


Another Time, Another Place

by DarlingJenny



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Outer Space, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingJenny/pseuds/DarlingJenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Scorpion AU one-shots. Chapter three: College<br/>---<br/><i>When Ralph Dineen goes off to college at CalSci, his mother Paige moves with him; her son may be a genius, but he's only thirteen. On campus, the Dineens are befriended by an eccentric group of young professors, and as Paige gets to know a certain Dr. O'Brien, she decides that coming to CalSci with Ralph might be the best idea she's ever had.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning and the first thought on my mind was "I wonder what superpowers the Scorpion team would have." (I'd love to know what I was dreaming about, to have that on my mind.) And the question stuck with me all day, until I finally decided that there was not only a story in there, but also a whole group of stories.
> 
> So that's what this is. Each chapter will be a different, completely unrelated AU that will put the team in different situations, time periods, places, and so on. They will feature the three main couples in various degrees of prominence; this first one is basically only hints of Waige, but future chapters will include Quintis and/or Melvester.
> 
> Also, yes, I absolutely stole the name Megamind from the Dreamworks animated feature. It just seemed like exactly the sort of thing Walter would name himself.

o.o.o

_Today in Los Angeles, the superhero team known as Scorpion has turned what could have been a terrible tragedy into a day of celebration. Although they are newcomers to the superhero scene, from what I've seen here on the streets today, Los Angeles is safer for their being in our city. In response to a bomb threat downtown, the superheroes known as Megamind, Dynamo, the Doctor, and Super Future Guy—_

Cabe turned away from the reporter and her camera crew with a snort. "Still can't believe the kid decided to call himself Super Future Guy. And I can't believe you guys let him."

Beside him, Happy smirked. "Letting had nothing to do with it. You don't know him yet, but you'll realize, he might be a pushover 95% of the time, but that other 5% . . ."

"Still," Cabe shook his head. "A real-live superhero naming himself after a comic superhero. You all aren't worried about that looking a little . . . ridiculous?"

Happy glanced down at her outfit—reminiscent of the practical black clothing she wore when she wasn't being Dynamo, except for the huge neon green D on her chest—and grimaced behind her black eye mask. "More ridiculous than this?"

Cabe grinned. "Still not used to the costume?"

"Still not used to being a masked crusader," she corrected. "Not really my style, being in the public eye this much. I'm happier tinkering in the Garage."

"This is a more constructive use of your technopathy, though," Cabe observed. He hesitated. "Why'd you agree to it, if you don't like it?" he asked, although he was fairly sure he already knew the answer. He needed to hear it from her. If he was going to put his career, and his life, on the line for Walter O'Brien's group of superhero misfits, he needed to hear each of them say they were all in on this.

Happy shrugged. "You know W—Megamind." Someday she'd get used to calling her friend by his superhero name when they were in public. Today was not that day. But she didn't feel too bad; this was, after all, their first day as proper superheroes. "He's pretty persuasive. Gave me the whole 'greater good' speech."

"He does that," Cabe agreed with a grin, and it reminded Happy what Walter had told them earlier that day: that he'd first met Cabe more than two decades earlier.

"You've known him a long time," Happy observed. "Did it surprise you, that he finally decided to do the public superhero thing?"

Cabe shook his head. "I'm surprised it took him this long. First time I met him, he'd lost control at a park, when some bullies were picking on his sister; ripped every single tree out of the ground. I get there, and all he can ask me is if he'd hurt anyone. He's got a good heart." He hesitated, then smiled. "And a desperate need for people to know he's clever. This seems like the perfect gig for him."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Happy grinned.

"Speaking of, where is your illustrious leader?"

Happy jerked her head toward the other side of the square. "Still talking to that waitress."

"Really?" Cabe asked, a smile touching his face. "Been talking to a girl all this time. How about that."

o.o.o

"Are you done throwing up?" Walter asked, and then winced. At this point of his life, he'd learned enough to know when something he'd said was going to make someone mad. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet learned how to avoid saying the things that made them mad.

Sure enough, the waitress—Paige, that was her name—turned from the garbage can to give him a reproachful look. "Thank you for your sympathy, Megamind."

Sarcasm, he was fairly sure. He probably deserved that. "I should have told you beforehand," he apologized. "The flying can be a little . . . disconcerting for regular people."

"Disconcerting is a good word for it," she agreed. "And in the future, you should probably warn people before you pick them up and go flying all over creation."

He blinked, baffled. "You were in danger," he pointed out reasonably. "To have spent time informing you that I was going to rescue you would have wasted time I needed to get you to safety. It would be illogical."

"Yeah, well," said Paige, and discreetly wiped at the corners of her mouth. "Although, I have to say, that was pretty impressive. You can fly _and_  move things with your mind?"

He shrugged. "They're actually both the same power. I'm just moving myself with my mind. It's quite difficult; most telekinetics can't do it."

He would have elaborated, if she 'd asked—nothing quite like a willing listener—but instead she said, "I never did thank you for saving me. For saving all of us."

She had a nice smile, and Walter rather thought he'd like to see it again. So he said, "You did a good job yourself, helping me clear out the square. You have . . . a very calming manner. And you're good at getting people to listen to you." That was actually a quality that was missing from the Scorpion team, come to think of it. He wondered if . . .

"Thank you," she said, and there was that smile again. It was . . . really very pleasant, to see her direct the smile at him. "I'm glad I could help." She hesitated. "Don't suppose you're going to tell me your real name."

"No," he said promptly with a little smile, "that would, ah, defeat the purpose of a secret identity, wouldn't it? That seems to be a vital part of the whole superhero mythos, from my research."

There was something wrong with that statement, he could tell from the look that suddenly entered her eyes—surprised, and curious, and maybe a little amused. "You're new to being a superhero, aren't you?" she asked.

Oh, that's what was wrong with his statement. "Why do you say that?" he said stiffly, reaching up to adjust his mask.

"Well, for one, I've never heard of the Scorpion group before. I didn't think we had any superheroes in LA anymore, after the Commander retired. Two, you keep fidgeting and fiddling with your costume, like you're not used to wearing it. It's new, isn't it? And three, you seem a little unsure of yourself."

Her expression was kind, but still he bristled a little, self-consciously folding his gloved hands across his chest. "Well, maybe we are new to public superhero life, but we are certainly more than equipped to handle anything supervillains can throw at us. I have been a telekinetic all my life, and maybe I haven't—"

"Hey," she said with a placating smile, "I'm not doubting you guys. You stopped the bombers and got everyone to safety, didn't you? I'm just saying, people expect superheroes to have a certain . . . image. A certain persona. You've got to be sure of yourself. Don't admit to strangers that your experience with being a superhero comes from research." And as though to soften the blow of those words, she smiled again.

It worked, and he found himself smiling back. She was really something, this Paige; not a superhero like the Scorpion team, but clever and brave in her way. And better at navigating people than any of Scorpion, or Cabe, definitely. He wondered again if he could find a way . . .

"I should go get Ralph," said Paige, breaking into his thoughts. "My son," she added, as though Walter didn't know; as if he hadn't seen the kid making salt shakers rattle in the diner. "My boss is probably tired of looking after him."

And when Walter interrupted with a "Paige, wait," it was genuinely because he needed to talk to her about Ralph, not because he didn't want the conversation to end just yet. Well, it was mostly because he needed to talk to her about Ralph. "I saw your son, before everything went down. He's a special kid, isn't he?"

She blinked at him a few times. "What do you mean, special?"

"He does things that you almost feel like you can't explain, right? He breaks dishes he shouldn't even be able to reach? He knocks things over in the living room when you could have sworn he was in the kitchen?"

A flicker of recognition ran across her face, along with a darker thread of suspicion. "How do you know that?"

Walter took a step forward. "I know you've told yourself that he's just really clumsy, or that he has undiagnosed ADHD, or even that maybe he's intentionally destructive, but he's not. He's telekinetic, like me. I recognize all the signs; I was just like him as a kid."

Paige blinked. "Telekinetic?" she repeated.

"So, you know, you don't have to give up on being able to keep nice things at home. Find him someone who can teach him control. He's capable of doing amazing things, if he can harness his powers."

A hint of a smile touched Paige's face. "My son . . . he has powers? Like you?"

It did something funny to Walter's chest, to know that the thought of her son being like him made her smile. And he couldn't help grinning, a broad grin that covered his whole face. Something about it made Paige peer oddly at him, as though she was trying to remember something.

And Walter was about to volunteer his services, to be the one who taught Ralph how to control his powers—after all, as one telekinetic to another, he really owed it to the kid, and maybe having someone to show him the ropes would save Ralph from going through the same kind of difficulties Walter had as a child, and also maybe that would allow him to spend more time with Paige—when he heard Toby calling his name.

Or some version of it, anyway. "Hey, Giant Brain!" he yelled. "We need you for a second."

Walter winced. "Please don't go anywhere," he told Paige. "I want to finish this conversation." And he turned and jogged over to where the rest of the team and Cabe stood. "What is it? And please try to remember it's Megamind, all right?"

Toby smirked. "How could I forget that you chose a name that showed such a stunning amount of humility and modesty?"

"Cut it out, you two," said Cabe. "Look, director of Homeland's on the phone here. The test period is over; they've been impressed with what they've seen. They're willing to partner with Scorpion, make your team the point of contact for any threats to LA. But you have to keep me as your handler. Can you live with that?"

Everyone nodded, Sylvester looking thrilled at the prospect of being an official superhero like his idol Super Fun Guy, but Walter knew that the question was really aimed at him. Cabe was asking if their relationship was sufficiently healed from that disastrous mission that Homeland had tricked a sixteen-year-old Walter O'Brien into, the one that resulted in the accidental deaths of thousands. His mouth tightened, but he nodded. "If that's the arrangement we have to make for them to agree to take us on, I can live with that."

Cabe looked pleased, but before he could respond, Toby grabbed Walter's shoulder. "Holy crap," he said. "Did you install wifi at that diner last week?"

Walter blinked in surprise. "Part of my alter-ego's cover," he confirmed. "How did you . . ."

"The waitress," Toby said, nodding in her direction.

Walter turned to see Paige standing where he'd left her, staring at the group with something like shock on her face.

"I thought you decided you wouldn't read our allies unless we had a very compelling reason," Walter pointed out.

"You did say that, _Doctor_ ," Sylvester agreed. "You said it made everything too easy."

"I didn't try to read her," said Toby. "Her brain is so unguarded that she might as well be yelling at me."

Somehow that didn't surprise Walter, and he smiled—and then Toby's words clicked. "She's thinking about my job at the diner right now?"

Toby nodded emphatically. "She knows," he hissed. "She recognized the scar on your lip first, and now she's remembering the wifi guy taking an interest in her son, and long story short, she knows your secret identity. She doesn't remember the wifi guy's name, but she's thinking she can go check her boss's invoices and find you."

There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the group.

"First day and we've already got people figuring out your secret identities?" grumbled Cabe.

"Smooth, _Megamind_ ," snickered Happy. "I told you we couldn't pull this off."

"I knew this was a bad idea," said Sylvester. "I didn't even need my powers to know that."

 

 

"So what do we do?" asked Cabe. "You want to try to force her to keep the secret, or do I call Merrick and tell him we're scrapping the whole thing?"

"I could try to make her forget," offered Toby. "It doesn't always work, and I don't like doing it; it's kind of a dark way to use my powers. But if we don't have any other choice . . ."

 

 

And suddenly, everything that had been swirling in the back of Walter's mind coalesced into one clear idea, and he spoke without further thought. "I'm going to ask her to join the team."

Four faces looked back at him with identical baffled expressions. "The waitress?" said Toby. "You want a waitress with no superpowers to join our team of—wait, what are we? Oh yeah, _superpowered_ people."

"Cabe's part of the team," Walter pointed out, "and he doesn't have powers. She wouldn't be out fighting, she'd be support. It's not unusual for superheroes to have support personnel."

"But why her?" Happy asked. "No offense, and I usually trust your judgment, but what is she bringing to the table?"

"People skills," said Walter promptly. "No offense, guys, but you know that's what we're missing here."

"Hey, I'm excellent at reading people," said Toby, affronted.

"Reading their minds," corrected Walter. "But when it comes to dealing with them, you're kind of a narcissist." He pointed at Happy and Sylvester. "And you've got anger issues, and you're scared of your own shadow, and I'm . . ."

"A megalomaniac," said Happy flatly. "Wait, I meant, Megamind. I get those two confused sometimes."

Toby hid a smile.

"The point is," said Walter, "I think we could use someone to help us out when we need to interact with normals." Still the rest of the team looked unconvinced, so he played his trump card. "Besides, she's got a ten-year-old son who's a telekinetic. We have to do something to help him."

At that, everyone's expressions changed; they'd all been born with their powers, and they remembered all too well what it was like to be young and scared and alone, with no idea why they were different from the other kids.

"Fine," said Happy finally, "but can we trust her?"

Cabe turned to Toby. "Doc?"

Toby shrugged. "Nothing that I can access from here throws up any red flags. She's a single mom, works two jobs to take care of her kid. The father, and her parents, are out of the picture. She'd do anything to keep the kid safe."

All eyes turned to Sylvester then. "Oh, fine," he sighed, and made his way over to Paige to shake her hand and thank her for her help. Walter hid a smile. The irony had never been lost on him that the only member of their team who had to touch someone or something to make his powers work was the one who hated touching strange people and objects.

"She's safe," he said when he returned. "I couldn't see a single possible future where she betrayed our trust. Actually she doesn't even tell anyone about Megamind even if we don't bring her into Scorpion. But she's useful, if we do hire her." He smiled. "Also, fair warning, the future where we hire her as support staff is currently the brightest one. Unless something changes drastically in the next few minutes, Megamind is going to win this argument."

Walter smiled. "Thank you, Super Future Guy. Any other objections?"

"I'm fine with her," said Sylvester. "She seems . . . nice."

"Whatever," shrugged Happy. "I guess we need someone to answer the phones."

"I'll have to run a background check on her, but if you guys are okay with it, that's good enough for me." That was Cabe.

Walter glanced at Toby, who nodded. "All right then," he said. "I'll go ask her if she's interested."

"She will be," said Toby. "She hates her current jobs."

Walter pointed at his friend. "If she accepts," he said as the rest of the team cleared out, "you need to stop reading her mind."

"All right, all right," said Toby. "No mind reading among co-workers. I get it. I won't do it again." He grinned. "Not even if you ask me to."

Walter blinked. "Why would I ask you to?"

The answer was very matter-of-fact. "Because you're going to start wondering if she likes you. You know. _Romantically_."

There was a moment of silence. "Don't be ridiculous," said Walter, after too long a pause.

"I'm not. That, my friend, is a fact."

Walter shook his head. "Don't pretend you can read me. We both know I'm the only mind you've never been able to get into."

But Toby just smiled. "Sometimes I don't need powers." He leaned in close. "I've got eyes, buddy." He clapped Walter on the shoulder. "Go get her, Romeo!"

Preposterous, that's what it was, and as Walter jogged back to where Paige stood, he decided to forget that conversation ever happened.

She'd gotten Ralph back at her side somehow, and the boy looked up at Walter with absolute awe in his eyes. "Hey, buddy," smiled Walter.

Paige was staring at him with equal awe on her face. She was clearly amazed to know the wifi guy had just saved hundreds of lives, and Walter couldn't deny that he liked seeing admiration on her face. Actually it was just nice seeing her face.

And he smiled. He didn't even need Sylvester's powers to tell him that it'd be nice to have them both around.

"So, Paige," he said, "I have a proposal for you."

And the rest, as the saying goes, was history.

o.o.o


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being heavily influenced by Firefly. So if you're into that, you're in luck. If you're not, hopefully you like the chapter anyway. :)

o.o.o

It begins, as so many good things in his life do, with Megan. It's Megan who's always wanted to get off what she calls "this forsaken rock"; ever since they moved here, she's chafed under the draconian laws of Demeter 5, and its Planetary Council who feel the need to stick their noses into everyone's business.

(Walter, for his part, agrees with her, but he can't afford to alienate the Council, who sign his paychecks. It's the Council who first took a chance all those years ago on an overwhelmed young man, newly orphaned, and newly arrived on the planet with nothing but an MS-stricken sister, a degree from a second-rate college on a backwater planet, and a genius-level IQ. He may hate the Council's strict laws, but he can't forget that they're the reason he can pay for their house, and their food, and all of Megan's medical bills.)

"We don't have to stay here, you know," she's told him more times than he can count, with that sunny smile that reveals the dimples in her cheeks. One of their dad's friends once called Megan cherubic; he called Walter stern. Walter thinks that sums the two siblings up quite well. "I'm finally healthy again, and you hate your job. We could move to a new planet, a whole new system. Or we could get jobs on a ship, like Mom did before she met Dad. Just imagine it, Walter: me, you, and the whole universe at our fingertips."

It sounds wonderful, it really does—even if Megan's failed to realize that if they signed on as crew for some freighter, as their mother had as a young woman, they wouldn't be free to sail the skies; they'd have to go wherever the freighter went. And though Walter doesn't point this out to her, she'd have a hard time finding a job; she has no marketable skills, having been too sick to complete her education, and even though the cutting-edge hospitals on Demeter 5 have cured her MS, they didn't get to her in time to stop the nerve damage that years of the disease wrought on her. She'll never walk without crutches again, and they'd have a hard time finding a freighter that could accommodate a crew member who couldn't navigate the ladders and crawlspaces of the ship.

But Megan's always thought with her heart first, her brain second. It's one of the things he loves about her, even though it frustrates him beyond belief sometimes.

"I'll think about it," he says. He never does, really. He deals in facts, and he'd have a hard time giving up stability in his current job in favor of an uncertain future out in the black. "The whole universe at their fingertips" is awfully tempting, but not unless he knows that he'd still have a way to buy food for his sister.

So he smiles at Megan, and lets her dream; and he sees how happy it makes her and he wishes he knew how to think with his heart first too.

o.o.o

It's Sylvester who gives him the how. He's Walter's only friend, besides Megan; despite being ten years younger, he's the only person Walter knows who's a match for him intellectually. Sylvester's father is a general with the Galactic Coalition Fleet and had no idea now to deal with his genius son, so he sent the boy to live with an aunt and uncle on Demeter 5 when he was 16 years old. The aunt and uncle didn't know how to deal with him either, but they sent him to the best university on Demeter 5, and now he works part-time there doing research in their labs. He ought to be a professor—he ought to be the president of the university, if brain power is a qualification—but he struggles being around other people, and so prefers his own private lab where he can work uninterrupted. The O'Briens are his only friends, as far as Walter can tell.

"It's called the Kármán Line Prize," Sylvester informs Walter over dinner one day—he eats at the O'Brien home several times a week. "Just announced."

"By the Kármán Foundation?" Walter asks. Megan raises her eyebrows, confused. "A major research foundation on Hecate," he explains. "Named after an Old Earth physicist. The Kármán Line is one of his great contributions to astronautics . . . never mind," because Megan's eyes had started to glaze over.

"That's the one. It's a grant to encourage new discoveries in our understanding of space. The group or person who presents the most compelling hypothesis to be tested on any issue related to space exploration or astrophysics will be funded to take a crew on an exploratory mission for a whole year." Sylvester takes a deep breath. "I think we should enter."

Walter blinks. "Say that again?"

"All those discussions we've had on wormholes, plus the breakthroughs I've made in the lab—I think we could put together a really compelling proposal."

Megan reacts first, her mouth hanging open in a gasp of delight, her eyes sparkling. "And spend a year in space? Completely paid for? Sylvester, can I come?" 

Sylvester gives her the shy smile that he seems to reserve only for her. "Of course you can, Megan."

She squeezes his hand—not seeming to notice the pink that rises into his face—and turns to Walter. "Walter, can you enter? Please?"

Sylvester turns an identical pleading look on his friend.

"Are you serious?" Walter asks. "Sly, you hate space travel."

"I hate commercial space travel," he corrects. "But we could pick a really safe, comfortable ship, and a really good pilot, and I'd be out there with you guys . . ." He shrugs and gives them a shy smile. "It would be a great professional and academic opportunity. With this kind of exposure, imagine what other offers we might get in the future. And you know I've never liked it here. I'd like to get off-planet for a while."

Sylvester must really want this; the guy won't even shake hands with a stranger without sanitizing his hands afterward, and now he's willing to expose himself to the dangers of outer space? And Megan hasn't looked so excited in years.

And Walter is tempted. His work for the Council is important but dull; you could train a child to do the programming tasks he does for them, and every time he requests to be allowed to pursue other research interests in his downtime at work—even research interests that could benefit the planet immensely—his superiors always turn him down. Winning the Kármán Line Prize would be vastly more interesting. And Megan would finally get off Demeter 5, even if only for a year.

"You know that hundreds of people will enter, right?" he asks them. "The chances of us winning are impossibly small."

Megan and Sylvester both nod eagerly, and Walter breaks down and smiles. "Fine. We can enter. But don't get your hopes up."

o.o.o

They win. Of course they win, Walter thinks in hindsight; he and Sylvester are geniuses. But he hadn't known how impressive the other entrants would be, or what the board was looking for, so he'd tried to temper Megan's hopes. Turns out that was unnecessary, because here's the vice-president of the Kármán Foundation standing in Walter's living room, beaming at him and Sylvester.

"You have two options: if you've got a particular ship in mind, we'll purchase it for you, with the understanding that at the end of the year it will become part of the Kármán Foundation's fleet. Or if not, you can select one from our current fleet. And we can provide crew, or you can find your own, but your pilot must be tested and certified by us first. Now, there needs to be a final decision maker onboard. I know it can be uncomfortable for two colleagues to pick a team lead—"

"Walter," says Sylvester. "I don't want the position."

Dr. Cooper glances at Walter for confirmation. Walter smiles. "Works for me." That's always been his and Sylvester's dynamic anyway.

"That was easy," she smiles. "And have you given any thought yet to other personnel?"

"Megan O'Brien," Sylvester blurts out, and from the kitchen Megan shoots him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Dr. Cooper nods and writes something on her tablet. "And her position in the crew is . . .?"

"Lab assistant," Walter lies. Megan has no qualifications for such a position, but luckily Dr. Cooper doesn't question it, just makes a note.

"Anyone else?"

Walter and Sylvester glance at each other. They've discussed this a little, and Walter's thought about it a lot, but they never came to any decisions; after all, it was never certain that they'd win. "Can we discuss it and get back to you?"

"Of course," Dr. Cooper smiles. "I'm heading back to Hecate today. As was discussed in the call for proposals, you'll need to take care of your loose ends here and join us at our headquarters next week, to prepare for a launch by the 25th. Does that suit you?"

It's fast, but Sylvester and Megan look so pleased, and Walter is so proud to have won, that he nods. "We'll be there."

o.o.o

It's quite easy to sell the house; it's only on the market three days before they have an offer. It's even easier to pack up; they don't collect much stuff, and Megan is very motivated to get off-planet, so she packs what they need and donates the rest quite quickly. Sylvester talks the university into giving him a year-long sabbatical, and Walter quits his job with the Council with a certain amount of relish. Really, it's shocking how easy it is to pull up their roots on Demeter 5.

Seven days after learning they'd won the prize, Sylvester, Megan and Walter are on a commercial transport to Hecate with all the worldly goods they own in three bins. Megan has been grinning from ear to ear since the moment they left atmo, and it's rubbing off on Walter and Sylvester. "Boys," she says as they stand at one of the large bay windows and look out at the stars, "this is going to be the adventure of a lifetime."

They find their first crew member on that first day of their trip to Hecate. Walter is wandering the corridors when he happens across the engine bay and, ever curious, pokes his head in to look, fascinated by the modifications that have been done to the engine.

"You lost?"

Walter jumps and looks over to see a young woman crawling up from a cooling vent. She's got black hair—looks like she probably had ancestors from the Old Earth region of Asia—and although she's short, she carries herself like someone who can hold her own in a fight.

"Sorry," he says. "Just glanced in and I was . . . I'm sorry, is this a Bingham Turbo 8 with an enlarged oxygen intake valve?" He knows the Bingham line well, having had to work with them on a project for the Council.

The young woman looks surprised, but then shrugs. "The captain insists on using Binghams, but the oxygen intake valve is a weak point on all the models; it can lead to overheating at high speeds."

"So you altered it?" Walter asks. "They teach you that in mechanics school?"

It's a little blunt—Walter is often a little blunt, he can't help it—but his companion doesn't take offense, she just scoffs. "The school I went to barely knew enough to teach us where the on switch was."

"So you just figured it out?"

She shrugs.

He looks around the room and notices for the first time that the workbench is covered with bits of machinery—pieces of the engine, half taken apart; a number of projects not related to the ship at all. He's much more a software than a hardware guy, but he knows enough to know that this is hugely advanced for a mere commercial transport mechanic. "You ever considered college?" he asks. "You have an incredible aptitude for mechanical engineering."

She shifts uncomfortably. "Never had the money. Not to mention, there wasn't a real university in my entire home system, let alone my home planet."

He considers her for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Happy Quinn," she says defiantly, like she expects him to laugh at it.

He raises his eyebrows.

"I'd tell you to ask my parents if they thought they were being funny, but I don't know who they are."

He likes her, he decides in that moment. Brilliant, unsentimental, has obviously been handed the short end of the stick more than once in her life. She reminds him of . . . well, him. And he makes a decision.

"You like this job?"

She shrugs. "It pays the bills. And it got me off Phobos."

"How'd you like to join our crew?"

Megan and Sylvester are surprised when he shows up at dinner with a new mechanic in tow, but they trust Walter's judgment. Happy is reserved and defensive, but when she sees Sylvester's eager smile, and when Megan struggles over with her crutches to warmly welcome her to the crew, her eyes soften.

So when their little crew shows up at the Kármán Foundation complex, their numbers have grown to four.

o.o.o

The first order of business is to pick a ship. Walter and Sylvester have no preference, so they're happy to select one from the Kármán Foundation fleet. Dr. Cooper lets them look through the records of what's currently available and suitable for long-distance travel, and their little crew of four gathers around the screen to discuss the options. Happy turns out to be invaluable; she's quick to point out which ships are most reliable, most sturdy in case of an accidental collision, most prone to accidental fires in the engine room (Dr. Cooper looks alarmed at that and makes a note on that ship's record). Megan offers her opinions on which seem most navigable with her crutches; Sylvester just wants a comfortable, clean one with a large lab area.

And Walter just watches this little group—this little family that has started to form—and lets himself smile.

They settle on a DSR-class ship that's been christened the Scorpion; it best fits all their requirements, and according to Megan, "It looks super cool." They still have no pilot in mind, so Dr. Cooper suggests they meet with the one that the Kármán Foundation has in mind for them and see if he fits.

The pilot turns out to be an older man—but one still obviously in excellent physical health—named Cabe Gallo. Former military, Walter would guess from how the man holds himself, and though his face is stern in repose, Walter catches him biting back a smile when Megan mutters to Sylvester that he looks like he's going to make them all do push-ups if they bring him along.

"I like him," Megan announces after dinner, when the crew is alone in their quarters. "He's pretty serious but I think deep down he's a big softie."

"Cooper gave me his service record," Happy chimes in. "Spotless. He was a colonel when he retired. And some of the ships he's flown for the military . . . he can more than handle our little DSR."

"He did not seem overly annoyed when I sanitized my hand after shaking his," Sylvester offers. "I appreciated that."

But Walter is not convinced; this is someone who they're going to trust with their lives, and trust as a roommate and crew member, for a full year. So after everyone else heads to their beds, he hacks the Kármán Foundation servers and gets Colonel Gallo's home address.

Colonel Gallo lives in a clean but drab apartment block on a clean but drab side street not far from the Kármán Foundation complex. There's a light on in his window, and Walter knocks without hesitation.

A surprised-looking Colonel Gallo opens the door, but that surprise turns into a small smile when he sees Walter standing there. "You've come to see what I'm about, haven't you, son? Well, you might as well come in."

The apartment is tidy but impersonal; Walter would guess it came furnished and its occupant has never added anything to the place. "How did you know that's why I'm here?" he asks stiffly, standing next to the sofa.

Colonel Gallo smirks, not in an unfriendly way; Walter notices that he seems to always hold himself at military attention. "I saw you in that meeting today. You looked more skeptical than the rest. I can guess why, too."

Walter shifts. "Why?"

"You're the leader, right? The others look up to you. You and the kid won the grant, but he looks to you every time something needs to be said; I bet he prefers that you make all the decisions, too. The mechanic defers to you, too; she's not afraid to make her own decisions, but she understands that she's support staff here. And your sister just looks up at you like . . ." He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to. "And as the leader, you feel obligated to look out for the others, make sure they're all right. If you're going to allow someone to fly them around the galaxy, you're going to make darn well sure that you can trust him."

That was unnervingly accurate. "All right," says Walter, "so tell me what you're about."

Colonel Gallo responds like he's reporting to a superior. "Flew for the Fleet for twenty years, then took a command position for another fifteen. Retired last year, but then I realized that retirement is boring. So I took a job flying for the Kármán Foundation."

"And you're willing to leave your life behind for a whole year to shepherd a group of scientists across the galaxy?"

Colonel Gallo hesitates, and his stern face softens. "I want you to trust me, son, so I'll be honest with you: I don't have much of a life to leave behind. Divorced, no living children, my friends were all killed in action or are scattered across other systems . . ."

"And that's reason enough to live on-ship for a whole year?"

"I've lived on ships for far longer than that," Colonel Gallo smiles. "Anyway, the Foundation didn't have a lot of pilots willing to leave for that long. They got families to think of. And I'm . . . trying to prove to them that I was a good hire." He hesitates, then admits, "Military pensions are crap, as I recently found out."

Walter deals in facts, so he appreciates the colonel's candor. And the reasons he gave for taking the trip seem perfectly logical. After a long moment, he nods. "The rest of my crew likes you," he says. "And I think I trust you. Do you want to be our pilot, Colonel Gallo?"

The man smiles. "I'm not a colonel anymore, son. Just call me Cabe." And the two men shake hands.

o.o.o

The next three weeks are spent in training. The Scorpion's artificial gravity systems reproduce 82% of Hecate's gravity, so they have to do simulations to get used to living in less gravity (Happy and Cabe are already used to living in varying gravity conditions, and they bond over grumbling about having to go through the training). They also have to learn all the ship's systems, its layout, and emergency protocols; they're each assigned a task to complete should a disaster occur, and the several days of rather dire warnings about what can go wrong during a year in space are enough to dampen even Megan and Sylvester's spirits. It doesn't last long, though; Megan perks up, squeezes Sylvester's shoulder and tells him they're going to be fine, and Sylvester brightens as he does every time Megan touches him.

"Have you considered adding any other crew members?" Dr. Cooper asks Walter one day, two weeks before the mission launch. "The Kármán Foundation is prepared to pay for up to four more. You could use a doctor; otherwise you'll have to make planetary landings for any medical needs."

The rest of the crew agrees that getting a doctor could be a good idea, and Dr. Cooper begins assembling a list for them to consider. But as luck would have it, they don't need her help to find their doctor; one falls into their lap the very next night.

The whole Scorpion crew has ventured out into Hecate City for dinner; Cabe thinks it's a good idea for them to bond as a team outside of training, and Megan is eager to agree ("I'm just sick of the Kármán cafeteria food," Walter overhears her confessing to Happy). So out they go and find themselves at a rather classy restaurant downtown—might as well, the Kármán Foundation's paying for it—attached to one of the nicest casinos in the city. They all feel a bit out of place in their Kármán-issued polo shirts, but as Happy points out, there's no point in feeling awkward, because in two weeks they're leaving "these Hecate losers" behind for a whole year.

As they wait for their dessert, Happy gets up to use the bathroom, and when she returns she looks annoyed. "What is it?" Sylvester asks.

"Just some local jerk hitting on me on the way back here," she says.

Immediately the whole group looks over toward where Happy has just come from, ignoring her cry of "Don't look at him, you'll just encourage him!" There's a guy standing there, casually dressed and wearing a black hat; he's got a pleasant enough face but he's a bit unshaven and his eyes are bloodshot. When he sees them looking he gives them all a pleased little smile, and Happy huffs, irritated.

They don't think about him again until they're leaving the restaurant and suddenly they all hear it: grunts of pain from down a nearby alley. Cabe and Happy exchange a look, and then before anyone can speak they're jogging down the alley, bending to scoop up a couple lengths of pipe along the way. The other three follow carefully after them, Walter very anxious about bringing his sister and best friend into danger but unwilling to abandon his mechanic and pilot.

It turns out to be the guy, the one in the hat, and two burly men are holding his arms while a third punches him in the stomach.

"Hey!" Happy yells, and rotates the pipe in her hand, as though testing its weight. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to play nice?"

"It's none of your business, lady," says the puncher. "This gentleman owes our boss some money."

The guy in the hat wheezes a little. "I told you, there's seven thousand in my wallet, and I'll get you the other three as soon as I can."

No one speaks for a long, tense moment, Walter all the while trying to think his way out of the situation, and then one of the other goons looks down at the arm he's holding. "Hey, Mark!" he says. "Look at this watch. What do you suppose it's worth?"

The puncher steps closer, and smiles. "At least three thousand." He pulls it off the guy's wrist, ignoring his ineffectual protests, and leans in close. "Now listen, _Dr._  Curtis," he says. "My boss is tired of waiting, so we're going to take the watch and call your debt paid. And because your friends are here, we're not going to teach you a lesson about what happens to people who try to dodge their debts. But if you cross us again?" He punches this Dr. Curtis one last time, and the guy crumples to the ground. The three goons disappear with his wallet and his watch, and the Scorpion crew is left standing around the unconscious body.

"Great," says Happy. "What now?"

They end up taking this Dr. Curtis to the nearest coffee shop, and Megan—who points out that after all the time she's spent in hospitals, she's practically a doctor herself—takes his vitals and checks his pupils. "He's fine, I think," she says. "Just passed out."

So they order themselves coffee and wait around for the guy to wake up; they know he's done so when a bleary but awe-filled voice suddenly speaks. "You saved my life."

Everyone turns to see that the stranger is staring at Happy with something like wonder in his eyes. Megan turns her laugh into a cough, and Cabe grins, and Happy looks irritated enough to deck the guy herself. "Well, we're not the types to leave a guy passed out in an alleyway," she all but growls. "But don't read too much into it. And maybe stop borrowing money from criminals."

"I didn't borrow any," the guy says, shifting gingerly into a sitting position. "He assumed I was cheating at poker last week. He can't accept that I'm just really good at reading his tells. He's had his goons after me since then."

Happy is unmoved. "Well, stop playing poker with criminals, then."

The guy nods and begins gingerly prodding at his jaw and at the back of his head, where he apparently has a bump. "No permanent damage," he mutters to himself.

Walter frowns in thought, things said and unsaid coming together. "You're a medical doctor," he says without preamble.

The guy reaches out to shake Walter's hand in introduction, as though they're meeting at a party, as though Walter's crew hasn't just saved him from a back alley beat down. "Dr. Tobias M. Curtis," he says. "Psychiatrist. I'd give you my card, but they're in my wallet, and my wallet is currently on its way to One-Eyed Onegin."

"So you're not a medical doctor?" Walter clarifies.

Dr. Curtis looks annoyed. "Psychiatry is a medical specialty," he informs him. "I went to medical school—New Ariel University, best school in the system, you ever heard of it? Graduated top of my class, I might add. Luckily I did a rotation in emergency medicine, so I can say with some certainty that I'm probably not going to die right now." He suddenly wobbles and puts his hand to his head. "Doesn't mean it doesn't feel like it's going to kill me, though. You think I could get some water?"

Cabe rolls his eyes and gives him some money to buy a drink. As soon as he's out of earshot on his way to the counter, Sylvester pulls out his tablet and shows Walter that he's hacked this guy's records. "He's telling the truth: genius level IQ, graduated medical school at age 20. Had a thriving practice on New Ariel until he gave it up and moved here last year. I wonder why he left; his practice here hasn't really taken off."

Happy snorts. "Maybe One-Eyed Onegin has a cousin on New Ariel."

"I think we should hire him," says Megan. All eyes turn to her. "What? That's the question we're tiptoeing around here, isn't it? We need a ship's doctor, this guy falls in our laps. He's a med school graduate and a genius, and he's probably happy to get off-planet quick if he's got debts to any more criminals with missing body parts." She shrugs. "Besides, I like him. I think he's funny."

Walter looks at Sylvester, who shrugs. "If Megan thinks it's a good idea, I'll go with it."

"Seriously?" asks Happy. "A total stranger with a gambling problem and a stupid hat?"

"What do you think, Walter?" Sylvester asks.

Walter considers a moment. "I want to take him on," he admits. "Maybe he just needs a place to belong, and to get away from the casinos. Besides, he's like us." He hesitates. "Well, I mean he's like me and Sly and Happy—"

"Yeah, we get it," says Cabe with a roll of his eyes but a half-smile on his face. "You're all geniuses and me and Megan are just chopped liver."

Megan grins at Walter. "You, little brother, foolishly think that anyone with an IQ like yours can be trusted. But it means you agree with me so I'm not going to complain."

"We can have the Kármán Foundation run a background check on him tomorrow," says Cabe. "But if they approve, it's fine by me."

Happy rolls her eyes. "Fine, but if he keeps hitting on me I'm going to break his arm."

"I'll allow it," says Walter.

And when Dr. Curtis returns to the table, Walter asks without preamble if he'd like to be the ship's doctor. The man looks pleased; he shoots a glance at Happy, who glares back. "I'd love to," he tells Walter. "I've been thinking it could be good to get off-planet for a while anyway. But if we're going to be crew mates, you'd better call me Toby."

"All right, Toby," says Walter. "Welcome to the Scorpion."

o.o.o

The Scorpion takes off right on time, on the 25th. The plan is to ease the crew into space life: they'll take the two-day trip to Aoede, the most distant planet in the system, and stay on-planet overnight. Then they'll begin the week-long trip to Melpomene, the inhabited planet nearest to the quadrant of space where they want to begin their research. After a three-day stay on that planet, they'll head off into the black, and then . . . who knows? What happens then is up to them; the Kármán Foundation trusts their judgment, and requests only that they be given weekly progress reports. The crew will have to make refueling and restocking stops every so often, but they're basically on their own. Walter finds this idea both liberating and terrifying. The lives of his crew, and all the money donated by the Kármán Foundation for this, rest in his hands. Maybe they should have given the prize to a proper scientist, not a smart guy who has very little real lab experience and certainly no field research experience.

He doesn't tell anyone this. There are a lot of things he doesn't tell anyone.

The trip to Aoede goes smoothly; everyone's getting used to their new living quarters and work spaces, and as long as Toby avoids hitting on Happy, everyone gets along. Dr. Cooper has organized everything for them on Aoede—overnight docking for the Scorpion, a hotel, even reservations for dinner. And Walter is glad of it, when they land; it turns out that Aoede is a backwater dump of a planet—reminds him a lot of Pastorus Minor where he and Megan grew up, actually—and he's sure that Cooper has found them the nicest possible hotel and done all the necessary haggling with the slimeball who runs the skyport, which makes the crew's lives easier.

"I am so excited to sleep on solid ground," Toby says fervently as they check into the hotel.

"Seriously, Doc?" Happy raises an eyebrow. "You've been off-planet for two days. You know we're going to be in space for a solid year, right?"

"And I'm excited for that too," he tells her primly. "Doesn't mean I can't be excited to be on-planet as well. I'm capable of feeling many different emotions."

They eat in a restaurant near the hotel, where their waitress is a very pretty young woman, maybe a few years younger than Walter, and he's surprised because normally he doesn't smile back at strangers, but when she turns her warm smile on him, he can't help but reciprocate.

"You aren't from around here, are you?" she asks them when she brings their food over. "What brings you to Aoede?"

"We're the crew of a research vessel," Megan explains proudly. "My brother and friend here are genius scientists, and we're going out to study wormholes."

Walter ducks his head a little, embarrassed, but he wonders if the waitress is impressed.

But that's clearly not what she got out of it. "There's wormholes around here? Are those dangerous?"

Walter is about to open his mouth and inform her that of course there aren't, only in the last ten years have researchers found any observational evidence for any naturally occurring wormholes and those pose absolutely no threat to any human habitation, but before he can do so, Sylvester chimes in. "This is just a stop on the way to our final destination. We're going out to Melpomene, then on to the uninhabited quadrant past that."

The waitress's eyes light up. "Melpomene? That's in the Ania system, isn't it?"

Walter nods, and she turns her big brown eyes on him. "This is a little unorthodox, but you wouldn't by any chance be willing to take on passengers, would you?"

He blinks in surprise. To most people he'd respond with a resounding no; he doesn't need more people underfoot when he's trying to do science, and he doesn't want more strangers to deal with than he's already had to deal with in the past month. But this waitress, with her hopeful, timid smile . . . The others would follow his lead, if he said yes. But this isn't what the Kármán Foundation gave him this ship for. They're not a taxi service. "We're just a research vessel, sorry."

She gives him an understanding smile. "Well, enjoy your meals."

Later that night, when Megan comes to tell him good night, she tilts her head thoughtfully. "You know," she says, "you could have told that girl yes. None of us would have minded."

"It seemed a poor use of the ship that the Kármán Foundation gave us for a very specific purpose."

She scoffs. "We're going to Melpomene anyway. I don't think one person is going to mess with our fuel consumption that much. And we've got three empty bunks."

"They didn't authorize us to ferry civilians around," Walter points out, and bids her goodnight. But he doesn't sleep. The fact is that the waitress has been on his mind all night, and Megan's words have only added to his unease. He feels like he should have said yes—maybe it's guilt, maybe it's sympathy, maybe it's that she seemed so thoroughly likable. Any of those reasons are thoroughly illogical, and he is not a man who likes to acts without compelling reason. He doesn't do things because he "feels like it." But that doesn't change the fact that part of him feels like he should have said yes.

His unease lingers until finally, unable to sleep, he gets out of bed, dresses himself, and goes for a walk. Down the darkened streets his feet wander; he has no destination in mind, but somehow he's not surprised to find he's returned to the restaurant. What does surprise him is that the waitress is there, just locking up the door.

"Oh!" she gasps, jumping and clutching her chest, when she sees him. "Wormhole guy, right? You scared me. Did you leave something?"

"No, I was actually just out walking. Couldn't sleep." He hesitates. "Do you live near here?" She stiffens, and Walter wonders what he's done wrong. What would Megan say? Megan would point out . . . that she's a defenseless woman, alone in the dark with a strange man who wants to know where she lives. "Not trying to be creepy!" he insists. "Just, if you need to get going, I didn't want to keep you."

She hesitates, then smiles. "Waiting for the bus, actually. Should be here any minute."

He nods and they fall into an awkward silence, him wanting to speak but not knowing how to start.

"Walter," he says finally.

She glances at him, and in the lamplight he sees her expression soften. "Paige."

He unconsciously wipes his hands on his pants. "So, Paige, can I ask why you want to get to Melpomene?"

She hesitates, then goes ahead and answers. "I'm actually trying to get to Achos. But I can't afford the commercial transport ticket for me and my son. I figured that if we could get passage on a private ship as far as Melpomene, I could afford tickets from there to Achos. But private ships hardly ever come through here. You're the first I've seen in years that's heading the direction I need."

"Ah," says Walter. "What's on Achos?"

"An old friend has a job for me, if I can ever get there," she explains.

 "Better than this one?"

She hesitates, then laughs ruefully. "Exactly like this one. But it's somewhere new. I've been trying to get off this rock since I landed here."

"Why'd you come here, if you hate it?"

"You're awfully nosy, stranger," she laughs. But it's not unkind, just amused—and also a gentle reminder that they've only just met tonight.

"You did ask for passage on my ship," he points out reasonably.

"And you said no," she reminds him. But then she says, "I came for Drew. My ex—Ralph's father." Ralph must be the son, then. "He got a job here playing baseball. Do you know baseball? It's an Old Earth game—still popular in some systems. I was pregnant and didn't have much to stay back home for, so I came with him, had the baby, started working to help cover the bills. And six months later Drew got a new job and a new girlfriend on Clytemnestra. I haven't seen him since." Suddenly she grimaces. "Sorry," she says with a laugh, "that's probably way more information than you wanted."

Walter does not laugh. "How long ago was that?"

Her answer is half-sigh. "Nine years."

And for the second time that night, Walter is moved to do something because he feels like it, not because it's logical. "We're not really authorized to take passengers," he finds himself blurting out. "But we're going to Melpomene anyway, and we've got the extra bunks. If you and Ralph can be packed and to the skyport by 9 . . ." 

Her grin is as bright as the headlights of her bus pulling up to the sidewalk. "Really? Wow. What would you charge?"

"We'll figure that out tomorrow. Less than commercial."

"Wow," she says again. "Thank you. Absolutely, yes, we'll be there." And she leans forward, putting one hand on his shoulder for support, and kisses his cheek.

He stands motionless in the darkness long after the bus is gone.

He half-expects that she won't show—surely no one is so trusting as to take a week-long trip with six strangers, he thinks, although he has heard that people pay for passage with total strangers on private ships all the time—so he says nothing to the others over breakfast. But they've only just made it to the skyport's main gate when Toby's voice rings out. "Isn't that the waitress from last night?"

Walter looks up and there she is, smiling shyly at him from across the street. Her hands rest on the shoulders of a young boy, pale and quiet, who regards the Scorpion crew with curiosity. At their feet are two duffel bags.

"Walt," says Happy suspiciously, "why is the waitress here?"

Walter forces down the smile that inexplicably tries to bubble up. "She and her son will be riding with us as far as Melpomene," he says calmly, as though this is perfectly normal.

Toby looks as pleased as a kid with a candy bar. "Walter O'Brien," he grins, "you went back to the restaurant after we went to bed. Just couldn't get enough of this girl, huh?"

"I ran into her while I was out walking. It was entirely accidental. She explained why she'd wanted to go to Melpomene, and I figured we have the space and we're going there anyway."

Toby and Happy give him identical looks of amused skepticism, and Walter supposes the mechanic would deck him if he suggested that she's got a lot more in common with the doctor than she'd like to admit.

"Well," says Cabe, "let's don't make a habit of picking up strangers, but since you offered and they're here, let's get them loaded up." He heads across the road to introduce himself properly and pick up one of the bags; Toby gets the other.

As the group falls into step, heading toward the Scorpion, Walter turns to Paige. "I, ah, didn't know if you'd actually come. Seeing as we are strangers."

Paige smiles. "I looked you guys up last night. I found a press release from the Kármán Foundation with a picture of your crew and everything. So I figured you're probably legitimate. By the way, this is my son, Ralph. Ralph, this is Walter O'Brien. He's a scientist who's studying wormholes, and he's going to give us a ride some of the way to our new home. Isn't that nice?"

Ralph just continues to stare up at Walter. Walter doesn't mind; he knows what it's like to live in your own head. 

o.o.o

Paige quickly starts to prove her usefulness on their trip to Melpomene. Megan had initially volunteered to take care of galley duties, but it quickly becomes clear that the tiny galley is going to present a problem for her crutches. Paige offers to help prepare their first lunch, and apparently she is moved when she sees Megan struggling to navigate the tiny space with dishes and food. Walter and Toby happen to be walking by the galley just in time to hear Paige offer to cover the meals while she's on the ship. "I mean, this is not what you signed on for anyway, right? You're supposed to be a lab assistant. You can't do much of that while you're stuck in here. I've got nothing better to do with my time."

"Trying to help in a way that doesn't seem like it's about Megan's limitation," Toby murmurs. "I like this waitress of yours."

"She's not mine," Walter corrects, a little too loudly, and Paige and Megan look up.

"Paige offered to help with meals this week," Megan informs them, smiling.

"It's the least I can do," says Paige. "You guys are seriously lifesavers, taking me and Ralph on like this."

"It's my pleasure," Walter blurts out, and Paige gives him that warm smile that caught his attention last night in the restaurant. Megan and Toby catch each others' eyes and grin.

When lunch is over, Walter and Sylvester go to their lab to work, and it's not long before a slight figure appears in the doorway. 

"Ralph," says Walter in solemn greeting, then hesitates. Earlier Paige had warned the crew in quiet tones that her son has as-yet-undiagnosed attention and learning challenges; she hopes there will be better facilities on Achos to get him help. Still, Ralph is lurking in the doorway and shows no signs of leaving, so Walter asks, "Do you want to come see what we're working on?"

Ralph nods and silently enters the room, sitting without being asked in a chair in front of one of the reader screens. Immediately he starts reading the notes there, and Sylvester and Walter share an amused look over this solemn little boy reading this information that is light years beyond what a child of his age, who's received an indifferent education on a backwater planet, could possibly understand. But after a minute, Ralph looks up at Walter. "There's a mistake in this." It's the first time they've heard him speak.

Walter blinks. "Sorry?"

"There's a mistake," the boy repeats, sounding perfectly confident. "Here, see? The Schwarzschild Metric. The first time you wrote it down, this 'dt' had a little number 2 after it. But this second time it appears, it's a little 3 instead."

Sylvester peers closer at the screen, then quickly scrolls back up to the top. "He's right," he says, sounding stunned. "I typed this in and I guess I was in a hurry—there's a typo." He stares at Ralph. "How did you spot that?"

Ralph shrugs, and Walter and Sylvester give each other identical looks of surprise. The silence is only broken when Ralph speaks. "What's the Schwarzschild Metric?"

From that moment on, Ralph is a constant presence in the lab, and Walter and Sylvester take it upon themselves to teach the kid as much as they can. His education up to this point has clearly been severely lacking, but he's incredibly bright, with perfect recall and astounding problem solving and logical thinking skills. Walter likes seeing the look of understanding dawning in the boy's face, and he likes the idea that maybe he's opening Ralph's eyes to a new world, in a way that was never really done for him on Pastorus Minor. And yes, he admits that he likes having someone look at him with absolute awe and admiration.

After dinner on their second day, Paige pulls Walter aside for a private conversation. "Are you sure it's okay that Ralph is spending so much time in your lab?" she asks. "He told me you said it's okay, but if he's bothering you . . ."

"No, it's great having him there." Walter hesitates. "I actually wanted to talk to you about Ralph."

Paige doesn't believe him at first that her son is a genius-in-embryo. "He's my son," she says. "Don't you think I would have noticed?"

So Walter leads her to the lab and shows her the board where Ralph spent the afternoon solving math equations that Sylvester set out for him, and she leans heavily against the lab table, her eyes wide. "Ralph did that?" 

Walter nods. "You thought he didn't pay attention in school because he didn't understand, but actually it was because he understood too well. It was all boring him."

Paige takes a shaky breath. "Walter . . ." she whispers, and reaches out to touch his arm. Walter stiffens involuntarily; he has trouble processing touch, and this was so unexpected . . . She immediately notices and removes her hand with a murmured sorry. And Walter grimaces, angry at himself. Just because her touch was unexpected doesn't mean that it was unwelcome. In fact he'd rather liked it, once he'd gotten over his surprise. But it's too late and the damage is done and there's no way to tell her _It's fine, actually it turns out I kind of like it when you touch me_. He's ruined the moment. Typical Walter O'Brien.

"So Ralph is a genius," she says.

He drags his attention back to the conversation. "Yes. So don't worry about him bothering us; we're having a good time teaching him about what we're doing. And maybe when you get to Achos, you can find him a better school than the one he was at before."

She looks over at him and smiles softly, and if Walter likes having Ralph look at him with adoration, that is nothing on how much he likes seeing Paige do the same.

o.o.o

Being on the Scorpion is exciting, but Walter is surprised to find himself missing life on Hecate. On Hecate he'd seen the whole crew constantly, all day every day, but here he only sees them at meals. Sylvester and Ralph and occasionally Megan join him in the lab, but Cabe's constantly on the bridge and Happy's always tinkering in the engine room and Toby is usually in the med bay—with Dr. Cooper's permission, he's working on his own research project, something about brain function on extended space voyages that Walter's always been too busy to ask for the details about. And this is odd for someone who's so unbelievably bad with people, but Walter misses them. Through some wonderful stroke of luck—just a figure of speech; he doesn't believe in luck—he's managed to assemble a crew that he genuinely likes, every single one of them, and he wishes he could spend more time with them. He just doesn't know how to make that happen.

So he's delighted when, on the fifth night of their journey to Melpomene, as Paige is clearing away the dinner dishes, she announces that they are having a crew night in the lounge. "I know you all go back to your bunks in the evenings, and that's just sad. Tonight, we are playing games together. And," she produces a bowl from the refrigerator, "I made snacks."

The whole crew, with varying levels of interest and anticipation, follows her to the lounge. The ship didn't come equipped with any games—it didn't even occur to Walter to look into it—but Paige knows a whole host of party games that can be played with just materials she's found around the ship. And before long, they are comfortably ensconced on the sofas, attempting to guess what Toby is drawing on the reader screen.

Walter takes a moment and looks around, free for once to observe his crew without their notice. Ralph is tucked comfortably against Cabe's side, listening with interest as Cabe shows him the remote piloting system that he brings with him when he has to leave the bridge to eat or sleep—or play games. Megan is laughing at Toby, her hand on Sylvester's knee, and Sylvester is smiling shyly at her, and Walter files that image away in his mental collection of things he needs to figure out someday. Happy is laughing herself sick at Toby's annoyed explanation that clearly his drawing was supposed to be a pulse rifle, how in the world did they not get that, and despite his exasperated manner of address, there's a little smile on his face. And Paige is perched on the edge of the couch, watching the whole scene as contentedly as he is, and then as though she feels his gaze, she turns to look at him and her smile softens even further.

He automatically smiles back; he can't not, when she looks at him that way. This moment is perfect, and it's her doing, all hers.

And they need this. He didn't mean for the Scorpion to turn into a haven for people who have nowhere else to go, but that's what it became anyway, and now they need someone to remind them to spend time together, to laugh, to be a family. So that night, after everyone has gone to bed, he writes a message to Dr. Cooper.

He gets a response in a matter of minutes. _We are happy to hire Miss Dineen as crew, but our standing policy is not to allow minors on our expeditions; it's a liability, and they generally can't contribute to the work being done._

He sends his response— _Please, is there any way an exception can be made?_ —before he realizes how out of character it is for him to say please.

He can almost hear Dr. Cooper in his head when he reads her response, hear the reluctant smile in her voice. _All right, I'll bring it up with the board. I'll let you know as soon as I have an answer._

He doesn't get an answer, not for a long time, and before long he is surprisingly restless about it. Now that he's had the idea, he knows that bringing Paige and Ralph onboard needs to happen, because is the perfect and most logical choice: a simple and elegant solution to a number of problems. The Scorpion gets someone to handle food and morale. Paige gets a better future than yet another waitressing job on a backwater planet. Ralph gets a better education from the scientists on the Scorpion than he ever would have gotten on Achos. Megan doesn't have to shoulder so many responsibilities. And Walter gets . . . the pleasure of knowing he made the logical choice.

And Paige would say yes, he's fairly sure. She's grown very fond of the ship, and of Megan and Cabe in particular, and when she walks into the lab and sees Walter and Ralph with their heads bowed together over some equation or diagram, she always gives them this certain soft smile that Walter has come to look forward to. He's not sure what the smile means—although he does know it makes his pulse increase—but he's fairly sure it indicates that she'd say yes, if he offered her the job.

As time passes and Dr. Cooper doesn't get back to him with the board's decision, Walter grows increasingly anxious, and by the time the Scorpion is making its descent onto Melpomene, he is holed up in his bunk, checking and re-checking his tablet for new messages. When they hit solid ground, Paige and Ralph are going to walk out of his life forever, and that is unacceptable. Of course the Scorpion will stay on-planet for three days, but who knows where the Dineens will be by then? They may be on a commercial transport to Achos at that point.

"O'Brien, what is your deal?"

Walter's head snaps up, and he sees Toby standing in his doorway. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Paige and Ralph are going to be off this boat in five minutes and you haven't said a word to them all morning. And believe me, they've noticed. Everyone else has gone to their bunks to say goodbye except you, and it's bumming them out. Ralph keeps asking Paige where you are."

That hits Walter strangely, like a blow to his gut. He's not avoiding them, he's trying to keep them on the Scorpion, but before he can figure out how to explain this to Toby, Cabe's voice comes over the announcement system. "Brace for landing."

Walter and Toby both promptly and obediently brace themselves as they were taught in training, and there's the tiniest jolt as the ship touches ground.

"Of course I'm going to go talk to them," Walter says as the engines begin to shut down. "I was just waiting—I was hoping that before then—"

And in that moment, finally, miraculously, his tablet beeps: message from Dr. Cooper. _The board approved the exception. You may add both Miss Dineen and her son to the crew_.

A weight falls from his shoulders. "Finally!" And without another word to Toby, he takes off down the corridor to go to the upper level of bunks, where Paige and Ralph should be . . . but aren't. They are gone and their bunks are empty, and with a curse he heads down to the loading bay, Toby trailing behind him.

By the time he gets there, Happy is opening the loading doors and Paige is giving Megan a goodbye hug with Sylvester looking on. Ralph, looking forlornly at the duffel bags at his feet, perks up when he notices Walter enter. "Walter!"

As the sound, Paige turns and smiles to see him there. "Oh, good. I thought we were going to have to send out a search party. You still haven't told me how much I owe you for the ride. And Ralph—" she gives her son a fond smile— "wants to know if he can message you sometimes."

"Plus it'd be pretty rude of you not to say goodbye," comes Cabe's voice from behind Walter and Toby.

Oh, good. If Paige turns him down, the whole crew will be here to see it.

"I should have come earlier, but I was waiting for a message," he explains.

Paige raises her eyebrows. "That was more important than saying goodbye?"

"Actually, I was hoping this message would mean we didn't have to say goodbye," he says, then winces a little; that was more sentimental-sounding than he intended. But he barrels on. "I've just gotten permission from the Kármán Foundation to offer you a position on the crew."

That surprises everyone, he can see from their faces. He really should have talked to the other crew members about this first, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; Megan and Cabe and Toby would have teased him about their absurd idea that he's attracted to Paige, and Happy might not have liked it (she's still mad about Toby). Besides, he's team lead; decisions about hiring crew fall entirely under his authority. And if Megan's face is any indicator, at least part of the crew is happy about the decision.

Paige looks shocked. "Crew? Doing what?"

"Ship's steward," he says promptly. "You'd be responsible for meal preparation and clean-up, inventorying and restocking our supplies, and crew morale."

"Wait," said Happy, "does this mean we don't have to take turns doing inventory, like we planned? Because if so, I am way into this idea." Behind Walter, Toby laughs quietly.

"Ship's steward?" Paige repeats. "On the Scorpion? For a whole year?"

"I've lived on ships far longer than that," says Cabe. "You get used to it."

"I've given this a great deal of thought," says Walter briskly. He's always more confident when he can talk about facts. "These are tasks that need to be completed, and the Kármán Foundation was always willing to let us hire more crew members. It's a better-paying job than waitressing, and it's great work experience; just think how good this will look on your CV. And Sylvester and I can continue to teach Ralph." Sylvester beams at that idea. "I've just heard back from Cooper and we have permission to bring a minor along on the expedition. I am certain that if you think about it, you'll see it's the most logical choice."

Paige looks down at her son, still standing calmly amidst the duffel bags. "What do you think, sweetie?"

And quiet Ralph smiles the biggest smile Walter has ever seen on the kid.

"Come on," urges Megan. "You can't tell me the past week hasn't been way better than being a waitress."

Still, Paige hesitates a moment. "Is that the only reason you're asking?" she says. "That it's the most logical choice? Or is it, you know, that you guys actually want us?"

Walter is tongue-tied a moment. "I think you would both be . . . valuable additions to our expedition."

"Say yes, Dineen!" yells Toby.

"It'd be nice to have you," says Sylvester with a smile.

Paige looks around at all of them, and her eyes finally land on Walter, and then she smiles.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Dineen," says Cabe.

Megan throws her arms around Paige again. Sylvester high-fives Ralph, and Toby leans forward to murmur in Walter's ear, "Nice move, Romeo." 

"I'm not—" Walter starts, but then he stops. Because over Megan's shoulder, Paige is giving him that soft smile that always affects him in ways he can't understand. He almost wishes that he could hug her, the way Megan is—just as a friendly gesture, of course. But maybe, someday, things will be different between them. Maybe someday he'll be able to touch her without overthinking it.

o.o.o

And so, three days later, the intrepid crew of the Scorpion takes off into deep space for their research expedition to officially begin. Walter still wonders, in a deep secret part of him, if the Kármán Foundation made a mistake entrusting such an expensive mission to a computer programmer from a backwater planet with no qualifications except for a high IQ and a lot of gumption. But he has confidence in Sylvester's research proposal, and confidence in his crew.

And even the unknown future can't shake that confidence. Because as he sits at dinner that first night and looks around at the crew he's assembled—Sylvester looking on fondly while Megan tells Ralph a very animated story, Happy rolling her eyes but fighting back a smile at something Toby just said, Paige glancing up from her conversation with Cabe to shoot Walter a warm smile—he ponders that while he might not know what's waiting for them out in the black, he knows he's glad they're going to face it together.

o.o.o


	3. Chapter 3

o.o.o

There's a fine line, Paige Dineen knows, between being supportive and smothering, between being encouraging and embarrassing as a parent. Moving to a new city to get a job at your son's new university, just so you can be close to him, would be smothering and embarrassing in most situations, and indeed she can tell that Ralph has mixed feelings about his mom being on campus with him. But on the other hand, Ralph's only thirteen. So on the whole, she doesn't feel too bad about following him to CalSci.

She does manage to force herself not to follow him around orientation the weekend before school starts, which she's proud of herself for; and she's rewarded by Ralph asking her, when he comes to find her after orientation ends, if she wants to walk around campus and help him find his new classes. She's thrilled to agree.

They wander together through the California sunshine, admiring the beautiful campus and finding the classrooms for his math, history, and study skills classes, before making their way to the computer science building. Ralph hasn't decided precisely what he wants to study yet, but computer science is definitely in the running, and he's been excited about CS124 ever since he was able to register for the section he wanted.

She's a little less certain, though. "Are you sure you want to take this section?" she asks as they reach the classroom where it will be taught. "We could still switch you to the 4:00 Tuesday-Thursday class."

"We've been over this, Mom," says Ralph confidently. "I want to take from Dr. O'Brien. He's the best in the field, and he almost never teaches freshman-level courses. This could be the most important class I take as an undergrad, and I probably won't have this chance again."

"I know how much you admire his work, Ralph. But his reviews on Rate My Professor are . . ." She sighs. "So bad. They're seriously terrible, Ralph, remember? 'The hardest class I ever took, and Dr. O'Brien's really mean'? Are you sure you want your first semester at college to involve the worst-rated professor at CalSci?"

"Second-worst," comes a masculine voice from behind them, and the Dineens turn to see a man standing there: curly dark hair, olive skin, dressed in a maroon button-up shirt, probably a little older than Paige. "The worst rated professor is Mark Collins. Although actually there was an incident last year and he's currently on leave until his trial finishes up, so I don't know if he counts as a professor right now." The way he talks sounds a little stiff and uncomfortable, but he's got a nice voice, and he's kind of cute, in a way. They're here for Ralph to find his classes, not for Paige to find a date, but she can't help hoping that this guy is faculty here, so she has the hope of seeing him around.

But then Ralph steps forward to shake this guy's hand, his eyes lit up in happiness as he greets him with "I'm pleased to finally meet you, Dr. O'Brien," and Paige's heart sinks to her shoes.

"Oh," she says softly.

Dr. O'Brien shakes Ralph's hand solemnly. "And you are?"

"Ralph Dineen. I recognize you from the photo in that article _Scientific American_ did about the rocket engine redesign."

"You read that?" The professor looks pleased.

Ralph nods. "I've been following your work for a long time."

Paige finally finds her voice. "I am so sorry," she interrupts. Trust her to start Ralph's college career off by insulting one of his professors. "What I said about Rate My Professor—"

He turns those clear dark eyes on her, and she notices suddenly, apropos of nothing, that he's got a scar across his upper lip. It adds an element of interest to his face. And this is not the time to be thinking about that. "I've heard worse," he says flatly, and that really doesn't help her feel better at all. "You must be Ralph's mother," he guesses. "Mrs. Dineen?"

"Miss," she corrects, then finds herself adding, "Paige," as though it matters whether this guy knows her full name.

"Dr. Walter O'Brien," he introduces himself, and extends his hand for her to shake. And okay, she knows it's been a while since she had a date, but it is absurd for her to be so affected by the feeling of his skin against hers. It's just a handshake, for Pete's sake. "And you're here dropping your son off?" She likes the way he accepts the notion of a thirteen-year-old enrolling in college without question.

"Actually, I work here now," says Paige. The professor's eyebrows raise in interest, and it occurs to her that he probably thinks she's a professor too, so it's a bit embarrassing to admit, "I'm the manager of the cafe at the alumni building." She's not ashamed of what she does, but it's certainly not as impressive as being a world-class academic.

He does look a bit underwhelmed by that, but he simply responds, "I enjoy the salmon there. Studies suggest that the Omega-3 fatty acids in salmon may be beneficial to the health of the brain."

"Oh," she says, not sure how else to respond.

Dr. O'Brien has already turned his attention back to Ralph. "So you're in my CS124 class?"

Ralph nods. "I was really hoping to take classes from you at some point in my college career, so when I heard you were actually teaching a freshman-level class . . ."

Dr. O'Brien makes a slightly dismissive face—just a little curl of his upper lip. "The department chair is making me," he says. "I'd much rather focus on grad courses and research. Making me teach freshmen is a poor use of my brain power."

Paige's expression falls.

"I hope you're prepared," Dr. O'Brien says. "I don't make my classes easy."

And Ralph smiles. "That's what I'm hoping for."

Paige can't help smiling proudly, although she does resist the urge to run her hand over her son's hair. "Ralph's been doing computer programming for a few years now."

Dr. O'Brien smiles a little. "Reminds me of me at that age," he says in tones of fond reminiscence. "I hacked the NSA at 11."

"What?" Paige blurts out.

"I'm looking forward to having you in my class," Dr. O'Brien says to Ralph, ignoring her outburst. "Most of the students around here are morons, but you might be an exception. I'll see you Monday at 10. Miss Dineen, perhaps I'll see you around campus." He hesitates, looking suddenly and inexplicably uncertain. "I do . . . enjoy salmon." He nods at them both, then walks down the hall and lets himself into what must be his office.

Ralph watches him go, a small smile on his face. "I think I'm going to like his class."

And Paige covers her face with her hands. "Geniuses," she says with a chuckle and a sigh.

She still feels bad about what the professor overheard, though, so when Ralph gets a phone call as they exit the building, she decides to seize her chance to do something about it.

"It's Dad," Ralph says, looking at the screen. "He said he'd call to see how orientation went."

"Why don't you sit here and take it," says Paige, an idea forming in her mind, "while I run inside and use the bathroom?" A white lie, but one in service of a good cause. Ralph nods and answers the phone, and Paige makes her way back inside, going not to the bathroom but to the door Dr. O'Brien went into earlier. It's got his name on it, but unlike the other offices they've seen today, there are no whiteboards, no flyers, no Far Side cartoons. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

Dr. O'Brien is very surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" he asks bluntly.

"I just wanted to apologize again," she says, then hesitates; it feels awkward to do this standing at his door. "Can I come in?"

He looks embarrassed but backs up so she can come in and seat herself across the desk from him.

"I wanted to apologize for what I said," she said. "It wasn't fair of me to say things like that about you without even knowing you—to judge you before we'd actually met."

He gives her an odd look. "But—but what you said was factually accurate," he says.

She blinks. "Sorry?"

"You said that I had terrible reviews on Rate My Professor," he says. "You were mistaken as to my exact ranking, but you were close, and it was absolutely true to say that I have terrible reviews. Never apologize for speaking facts."

This is disconcertingly similar to conversations she's had with Ralph before, and she automatically says the same thing she always says to her son: "But just because something can be said doesn't always mean that it should be said."

The professor blinks in surprise, his expression indicating that this has honestly never occurred to him before.

"Look," she says, "I just—Ralph has really been looking forward to taking your class, ever since he was admitted to CalSci, and I wanted to make sure I didn't mess anything up for him."

"Not at all," he says promptly. "He had nothing to do with what you said, so it would be illogical to hold it against him. And I assure you, what you said didn't offend me. As I told you, I've heard much worse."

The matter-of-fact way he says that makes her heart twist strangely in her chest. Dr. O'Brien is an odd little duck, to be sure, very blunt and very convinced of his own genius, but she still finds herself wanting to have words with whoever taught him to be so intimately acquainted with unkindness. "I'm sorry."

"You already apologized—"

"No, I mean, I'm sorry you've heard worse."

He looks baffled. "Why? It wasn't your doing."

This is another conversation she remembers having with Ralph when he was young, and she suddenly wonders what Dr. O'Brien's upbringing was like. Was there no one to explain to his genius brain how normal people feel and think? Or did someone try, and Dr. O'Brien just wouldn't be taught? The counselor at Ralph's gifted school did tell her once that Ralph had an unusually high EQ for a genius. Maybe this Walter O'Brien wasn't so lucky. "You can feel sorry about things that weren't your doing," she says softly.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "Well, thank you." He hesitates a moment. "How old is Ralph?" he asks.

"Thirteen," she says.

He smiles. "Your son is impressive. I didn't start college until I was fourteen."

She fights back a laugh at the casual way he says that. "That's still pretty impressive," she points out.

He shrugs it off. "How did you learn he was gifted?"

She smiles a little. "Until he was eight, I thought he had learning problems, actually. He was so spacey and distracted in school."

"Just bored," he says in a knowing tone, and she supposes he was the same way as a kid.

"But luckily we moved to a new school up in Sacramento, and a teacher there realized he was actually brilliant, so she helped us get him enrolled in the district's gifted student program, and . . . here we are. He's so excited to take your class; he's been following your work for a long time. I think you're the reason he chose CalSci."

He nods. "And you gave up your old life to move here so he'd have support at college?"

She hesitates, then confesses, "There wasn't much for me to give up. I was working two jobs—and hating both of them—so I didn't really have any friends, and . . . well, Ralph's the only family I have."

Dr. O'Brien looks at her a long time, to the point that she starts to get uncomfortable. "Ralph's lucky to have you," he says finally.

She gives him a half-smile. "Sometimes I don't feel that way. I haven't been able to help him with his homework since he was ten years old. I never know what he's talking about when he tells me about the latest academic journal he's read."

"Yes, but you're trying," he says, something strange in his tone. "Don't underestimate how important that is." And once again she wonders what his life has been like.

"And now he's here," Dr. O'Brien goes on. "With people like him. I'm speaking from experience when I say, it'll help."

She smiles softly at him, which triggers a tiny, sweet, uncertain smile on his face. She was right earlier: he's cute. And sweet, when he's not calling his students morons (to their faces sometimes, if she's remembering the reviews about him correctly).

Suddenly she starts a little as she remembers the time. "I need to go," she says. "Ralph is waiting for me."

Dr. O'Brien stands as she does. "It was nice to meet you, Miss Dineen," he says a bit formally, and she gets the feeling it's something he's trained himself to say, because he knows he should.

"Likewise," she grins, and decides that she means it. "I think . . . I think I'm very glad that Ralph is in your class."

"So am I," he says. "I'll . . . keep an eye on him. And maybe come get some salmon some time."

"I look forward to it, Dr. O'Brien."

"Walter," he blurts out. She raises her eyebrows, and he clarifies, quieter, "Please call me Walter."

She smiles. "Only if you call me Paige."

"Paige," he repeats, and she kind of likes the way it sounds in his voice. "I look forward to seeing you around campus."

And she's quite sincere when she says, "Me too."

o.o.o

On the Wednesday after classes start, Paige looks up from where she's helping in the back of the cafe kitchen to see Dr. O'Brien—Walter—seated at a corner table with four other people, and she smiles and comes out to say hello.

"Miss Dineen! Paige," Walter corrects himself. "What a—what a pleasant surprise. I mean, not a surprise, I knew you worked here, but I didn't know if I'd—hello." Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he makes introductions: the guy in the black hat, badly suppressing a grin at Walter's awkward introduction, is Dr. Tobias M. Curtis, professor of psychology, who says he gave up his private practice to come teach because he wanted to do research. The woman with the serious case of resting angry face is the improbably named Dr. Happy Quinn, professor of mechanical engineering, who either doesn't notice or doesn't care about the way Dr. Curtis seems to always be watching her from the corner of his eye. The big guy with the happy, young-looking face is Dr. Sylvester Dodd, professor of mathematics, who's so pleasant and cheerful that Paige barely notices that he pulls the sleeve of his sweater up over his palm before he shakes her offered hand. And the older gentleman with the slight southern accent is Lieutenant Colonel Cabe Gallo—"Call me Cabe, 'Lieutenant Colonel' is way too long"—head of the ROTC on campus and a baffling enigma to Paige, because why is a military man in his sixties hanging out with a bunch of eggheads half his age?

But it's Dr. Dodd she turns to first. "I think my son is in your introductory calculus class," she says. "Do you teach a section Tuesdays at 1?"

"I do," he beams. "It's a big class, but I'll keep an eye out for him."

"He'll probably stand out," she chuckles. "He's only thirteen."

"Yes, I've heard—" he starts, then cuts off; from the way Walter shifted, she's pretty sure he just kicked his friend to shut him up. So Walter's talked about her and Ralph, then? She fights back a smile.

"So how's your boy enjoying college?" asks Cabe kindly.

"Oh, he loves it so far," she says. "He's already read about half of his calculus textbook."

Dr. Dodd beams again.

"And he's really excited about the first CS project you assigned," she says to Walter. "He started on it last night."

Walter looks pleased. "Remind him about my office hours, if he needs help," he says. "A lot of students don't take advantage of those."

"They take advantage of mine," says Dr. Curtis.

"That's because you don't make students cry," Dr. Quinn points out. "Unlike some people we know."

"That was one time," Walter says uncomfortably, and Paige fights back a laugh; she read that girl's Rate My Professor review, and it's sad that a professor made a student cry, but knowing Walter now makes the story kind of funny.

"I see you got your salmon," she says to Walter, who looks pleased that she remembered. "I hope all those fatty acids are as good for your brain as you'd hoped."

"Oh no, now he's giving strangers the fish speech?" Dr. Curtis says, and Dr. Quinn and Cabe both snicker.

Walter looks a little embarrassed, but in the way you look when your friends tease you, not when your enemies bully you, and she's glad he has friends to tease him that way. She catches his eye and smiles. "Hey, I'm glad you told me," she says. "Now I have an excuse to eat salmon more often."

Walter gives her that tiny, sweet, uncertain smile he gave her last week in his office, and she's so taken with it that she almost misses Drs. Curtis and Quinn exchanging significant looks. Almost.

"Listen, I've got to go," she says. "Lunch rush. Hopefully I'll see you guys around?"

"We do lunch every Wednesday," says Cabe. "I imagine we'll end up back here sooner or later."

They all bid her farewell, and she returns to her work with a smile on her face.

But the day holds another surprise for her, because when 3:00 rolls around and she's running the cash register because they only have two student employees from 2 to 5, Dr. Curtis comes back to buy a brownie from the display case at the front. "Long time no see, Dr. Curtis," she chuckles.

"Please, call me Toby," he says. "So, a lot less busy here now."

"It gets real slow in the afternoons," she agrees. "But it's nice because my boss Merrick, the food services director—he lurks around here in the mornings, to make sure I'm doing everything right, but he always leaves after the lunch rush to go do things over at the food court."

"Always nicer without Big Brother watching," Toby agrees, and hands her the $1.35 for the brownie. "So how are you enjoying the new job?"

He leans against the display case and chats with her for a while, which she allows, because there's no one else in line, and because he's pretty funny. The fact that he's doing it, though, is a little odd; she'd think he was flirting with her, but she knows she didn't misread the way he was acting around Dr. Quinn earlier.

From him, she learns that the four professors all started teaching around the same time and bonded over being the smartest and least popular people in their departments. "I mean, all the faculty here are smart, but the four of us are certified geniuses. Walt has the fourth-highest IQ in the world."

"Wait, seriously?" she says, suddenly feeling very inadequate with her community college hospitality degree.

He nods. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you yet. He loves making sure people know. Doesn't make him very popular."

"I get the feeling that's true of a lot of his behavior," she says, and Toby laughs aloud.

"Very perceptive. And true of the rest of us, too. Sly's afraid of his own students—he has to psych himself up before every class—and Happy, as you've seen, is just about the most inaccurately named person I've ever met."

"And you? You seem normal."

"I am . . . more so than they are, anyway. But I also might struggle a little with not, you know, analyzing everyone I meet. To their faces."

She laughs. "That's not the way to win friends and influence people."

"It's hard to turn off," he shrugs. "But no, 'genius behaviorist' is not what most people are looking for in a friend."

"And Cabe?"

"Cabe's known Walter since he was a kid. The military's been keeping track of him since he hacked the NSA at 11."

"So that really happened?"

Toby nods. "Got him put on a lot of government watch lists, partly to make sure he doesn't do anything else, and partly so the government knows where to find him when they need his big brain. It made him fail the background check when he first applied to work here—CalSci's connected to NASA and a lot of other government organizations—so Cabe agreed to take the ROTC gig in order to stay close to Walt. Only way to appease the higher-ups."

"That's . . . kind."

"There's some bad blood between the two of them," says Toby. "Or there used to be. I don't know the details, but it's something about some project that Homeland basically tricked Walt into doing when he was a teenager, that he still regrets, to this day. I think Cabe feels guilty for being a part of all that. That's why he took the job, to make it up to him."

She tries to imagine a job someone might regret doing for Homeland Security, and doesn't like the sound of any of the possibilities she comes up with. "Well, if what I've heard about Walter is true, they made a good hire."

Toby nods. "The rest of his department thinks Walter's kind of obnoxious," he says, "but they'll never fire him. The amount he publishes, and the cachet he brings to the school—he's one of the most influential academics in the world, in his field, and you don't get rid of that just because he says things like 'Why should I have to refill the coffee pot? My IQ is at least thirty points higher than yours.'"

Paige snorts. She can definitely imagine him saying that.

"And the casual students hate his classes—they're impossibly hard and he's kind of a jerk—but the smart ones, the ambitious ones, they know it's better to bite the bullet and go for it. Because taking a class from Walter O'Brien—or, if you're lucky and smart enough, getting a research position with Walter O'Brien—that'll make a career."

"Wow. I knew he was smart but I didn't realize . . ."

Toby nods. "So that's our merry gang of misfits," he says. "Tell me about you."

So she tells him about Ralph being recognized as gifted, and how that was the encouragement she needed to finally finish her degree, to be a good example for her son of the importance of finishing college. She tells him how Ralph wanted so badly to go to CalSci, and how excited he was to take a class from his hero, Walter O'Brien, but how the reviews online made her hesitant about the class.

"All true, I'm afraid," says Toby. "But your kid'll be fine. Walt likes other geniuses a lot more than he likes normals, and the fact that Ralph started college a year earlier than Walt did basically guarantees that he'll end up on his good list."

That's good news, but . . . "Why does Walter dislike 'normals' so much?"

Toby shrugs. "They started it." He hesitates, examining her face a long moment. "I'm going to go ahead and assume, from the fact that you're managing a small cafe on a college campus, that your kid's the only genius in the family."

"This must be the 'can't help analyzing people to their faces' that I've heard so much about," she mutters.

"So maybe you haven't experienced firsthand how normal people treat geniuses, especially in school, but you've probably seen it."

She thinks back to 6th grade, when Brian Miller made fun of Alice Gutierrez until she cried because she got the highest score on the math test, and she nods. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So Walter decided at some point, he's going to reject them before they have a chance to reject him. He doesn't realize that what he's doing, of course; he just thinks, 'I'm brilliant, and I'm not going to be ashamed of it.' Even if that means being a jerk to people who aren't brilliant."

"Huh," Paige says, her mind whirling. It fits with the conclusions she's drawn about Walter, and explains a lot more.

"He likes you, though," Toby says, and she blinks in surprise. "I mean, he insisted we come to this cafe today, and it's pretty clear from watching him interact with you why he wanted to eat here."

She blushes. "We really only talked that one time," she insists. "We're just—I mean, barely acquaintances, really."

And Toby grins. "Oh, I know. But after that reaction, suddenly a lot of my suspicions are being confirmed."

She sputters a little in surprise, and he chuckles. "A piece of advice: never kid a kidder. And never . . . out-behavior a behaviorist." He waves a dismissive hand. "You know what I'm trying to say. But hey, I'll make it up to you with a useful piece of information." He leans closer. "Walter's single."

She looks at him, her eyes narrowing, but she can't stop her lips twisting into a smile. "You're a dangerous man, Dr. Curtis."

He smirks. "Whose semester just got a whole lot more interesting."

o.o.o

It's three weeks before Ralph takes advantage of Walter's office hours, which Paige thinks is pretty impressive: a thirteen-year-old kid managing to last three weeks in a notoriously difficult college class before he has to ask for help.

In the three weeks leading up to that, Ralph works hard on his homework and comes home every day absolutely glowing with everything he's learned. Paige grows more comfortable in her position at the cafe and stops dreading the thought of messing up in front of Merrick. And Walter's little group comes to dine at the cafe and chat with her every Wednesday; she flatters herself that maybe her presence is the reason they've settled on going to the cafe each time, when according to Cabe they used to bounce around between the various dining options on campus. And they all—except Walter, for some reason—end up visiting individually for snacks and coffee pretty often, which gives her time to get to know each of them personally. She learns to call them by their first names. Sylvester just raves over how clever Ralph is; Toby and Cabe are funny and down-to-earth and kind; Walter says little but keeps giving her those awkward little smiles that she kind of looks forward to; and Happy—well, she continues to be Happy, and Paige is realizing that the woman doesn't necessarily dislike her, she just doesn't feel the need to gush over things. The group has come to feel like friends, in a way, or at least they're the closest things she has to friends in town right now.

She was sure that this move would be a good thing, but even so, she's surprised to find herself feeling so happy.

On the day in question, she texts Ralph at the end of the workday to see where to meet him to take him home; normally he's studying in the library, but today he texts back that he's in Dr. O'Brien's office, and she, without letting herself look too hard at her reasons, volunteers to come meet him there.

It's her first time back in the computer science building, and she has to admit that she approaches Walter's office with a different feeling than she did last time, knowing now that he isn't just a professor: he's well-known and influential and one of the smartest people on the planet. She assumes that Ralph is in there getting help with his classwork, so she should be expecting the scene that greets her eyes when she approaches the office. But somehow, the sight of Ralph and Walter with their heads bowed together over a textbook together while Walter explains some complicated concept and Ralph looks over with admiration in his eyes just hits her in a way she didn't expect. It's nice. It's just . . . really nice that Ralph's found someone he looks up to so much.

"Hi, Mom," Ralph greets her with a quiet smile. "I'm almost done here."

"Take your time," she says. "But make sure you don't keep Dr. O'Brien after his posted hours. And if you get hungry while you finish . . ." And she pulls out the two brownies that she'd grabbed on a whim on her way out of the cafe.

"Thanks!" Ralph exclaims, grabbing one of the brownies and tearing off the saran wrap with all the fervor a teenage boy can muster.

It takes a minute for Walter to realize the other brownie is for him, but when he does, she doesn't know if she's ever seen him look so pleased. "Oh, these are—these are my favorite."

"I know," she says. "You get one every time you come to the cafe."

He grins and takes it from her, opening it with only a little less enthusiasm than Ralph.

"You know," she says, "we're open from 9 to 7, and later on special occasions. If you ever want a brownie, you don't have to wait until you come in for lunch."

"Oh," he says. "I should—I should do that."

And he does start coming after that, maybe once or twice a week outside the normal Wednesday lunch visit. She starts to learn his schedule, when he has open stretches of time and when he has department meetings that he usually fortifies himself for by grabbing a brownie beforehand, which of course doesn't matter at all. She just happened to pick up the patterns, is all. When he comes by he is as awkward as ever, but she looks forward to it anyway. It's just . . . nice to have a friend.

In mid-October she goes to Walter's office to pick up Ralph late one afternoon, only to find the pair of them deeply absorbed in some elaborate math equation covering an entire whiteboard. Ralph apologizes, but Paige has nowhere to be, so she makes herself comfortable in her usual chair and pulls out the book she has in her purse. "You two go right ahead," she says.

The equation is apparently quite engrossing, because Walter and Ralph talk about it non-stop for an hour. She indulges them for a while—not least because it gives her time to finish her book—but when she finishes the last page and looks up to see that it's 6:03 and the boys show no sign of slowing down, she decides someone's going to have to put the brakes on things. "You guys at a stopping point?" she asks when there's a pause in their conversation. "Because I'm getting hungry and you've kept Dr. O'Brien way past his posted office hours, kiddo."

It's comical, the way they both look back at her with identical expressions of disappointment. "Sorry," she shrugs.

"Your mom's right," says Walter after a moment. "You need to get home—you have other homework besides my class."

Ralph nods. "Okay, Walter," he says. Paige didn't know he'd started calling him Walter instead of Dr. O'Brien, and it's strangely sweet, this odd little friendship that's sprung up between them.

So when Ralph runs off to use the bathroom before they go, and Paige and Walter are left together in the office, she takes the opportunity to say, "I really can't thank you enough for taking Ralph under your wing."

"It's nothing," Walter tries to say, his gaze down on the laptop he's currently slipping into his backpack, but Paige isn't having it.

"You've spent a lot of time with him," she points out. "And even if that doesn't seem like a big deal to you, it's a huge deal to him, to have someone he looks up to so much show an interest in his education."

Walter looks embarrassed and pleased. "He's a brilliant mind," he says, then hesitates. "And a great kid. I'm more than happy to help him." Something dark crosses his face for a moment, and she waits, fairly sure that he's about to say something else. After a short silence, he does. "I—I wish I'd had a mentor like this when I was young," he says, with a tiny, awkward, mirthless smile that gives her the distinct impression that he's feeling vulnerable. "I—my family didn't know what to do with me, or my teachers. I did have academic advisers in college, but they never—it was purely school help. No one ever . . . no one ever made sure I was okay. Or helped me deal with being four years younger than my classmates." He hesitates, then gives her a tight smile. "And even if they'd tried, I don't know if I would have listened; I can be . . . a bit stubborn."

Paige laughs softly.

"I regret that now, looking back," he goes on. "And I can see that Ralph is open to that kind of help. So I'm very happy to fill that role for him."

"Because no one ever filled it for you," she says softly. This is another piece in the puzzle that is Walter O'Brien, and Paige finds herself more and more intrigued by the picture that's emerging as she fits the pieces together. Is it a cliche to get sucked in by a sad story, to want to be the person who heals his wounded heart? Maybe, but she's not sure she cares. Walter is fascinating and vulnerable and prickly and brilliant and awkward and generous and handsome, and Paige is . . . taken with him.

In the weeks and months and years after Drew, she usually rejected any feelings she might be developing for a guy; she was too busy, and guys always seemed to struggle with her having a kid, and the memory of how things ended with Drew always hung over everything like a black cloud. But this is different. Her financial and working situation is finally stable and manageable, and Walter and Ralph get on like a house on fire, and she's known Walter for less than two months but even so, she's pretty sure he'd never behave the way Drew did. So would it be so bad if she's, you know, falling for him?

"What are you doing tonight?" she hears herself say.

He looks surprised. "Not much, why?"

She hesitates, then makes up her mind. "Ralph and I are probably going to go eat at this cafe we like. Why don't you come with us? And let me buy you dinner to say thanks for everything you've done for Ralph?" That is genuinely a reason she wants him to come to dinner. But it's not the only reason.

Walter's eyes light up—he's never been good at hiding his emotions—and for a moment she just knows he's going to say yes. But then his gaze darts over to the door, and his brow furrows, and then he looks back at her. "I—I actually can't tonight."

Maybe he remembered somewhere else he has to be? "Another time, then," she smiles, tamping down her disappointment.

He doesn't say anything, just smiles a bit awkwardly.

o.o.o

"Another time," however, proves elusive. She asks him to join them again in late October, but he's got some lecture he's planning to attend that night, and then in early November Ralph informs her that he'd invited Walter over to see his telescope and join them for Sunday dinner, but Walter said no because he's going out of town that weekend. She can't help but wonder if he's avoiding them, but he still spends loads of time helping Ralph, and he still gives her that sweet, uncertain smile every Wednesday over lunch, and he still comes in for baked goods and coffee at least once a week. So maybe they're just genuinely struggling to line up their schedules.

He does say yes, however, when Paige invites the whole gang over for Sunday dinner, which doesn't help her suspicion that he just doesn't want to be alone with the Dineens.

"This is nice," Cabe says, looking around the apartment, which is small but comfortable and, at the moment, bursting with friends. "If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to have us all over?"

Across the room, Toby catches her eye and smiles, then goes back to watching Happy and Walter examine Ralph's telescope.

She hesitates. She doesn't want him to think she's nosy, or pitying them, but . . . "Toby told me that none of you have family in the area. Which I can sympathize with; I don't really have family at all. And I thought dinner together could be nice." (Toby's actual words were, of course, a bit more blunt as he explained their various family situations: "We're mostly orphaned, estranged or unwanted.")

"Very nice," he assures her. "We don't see each other much outside of CalSci, so this is really good."

Paige is quiet a moment, then, feeling very bold, asks, "You've known Walter a long time, right?"

"Since he was 11," Cabe confirms.

"What was he like then?"

"Shorter," Cabe quips, and then his expression grows thoughtful as Paige chuckles. "Just as brilliant—and just as confident in his own brilliance—as he is now. But also . . . still bright-eyed and naive. Still hoping that he might be able to fit in with his classmates, make friends his age. These days he's kind of stopped trying." He pauses. "I'm actually pretty darn impressed he befriended you."

"Me too, actually," she says. "Did he ever tell you how we met?"

Cabe shakes his head.

"Before the semester started, he overheard me talking to Ralph about how bad his Rate My Professor Reviews were. He stepped in to correct me that he's not the worst-reviewed professor at CalSci, he's the second-worst."

Cabe laughs aloud at that. "And you guys still managed to become friends?"

She shrugs. "Well, as friendly as we are now. I think he's better friends with Ralph than he is with me."

This prompts a long, considering look from her companion. "I know he doesn't show it much, but he thinks the world of you. I can tell."

To her embarrassment, she blushes at that, and any hope she had that Cabe didn't notice is destroyed when he smirks. "So what's going on between the two of you?" he asks.

"Nothing," she insists.

"All right, what do you wish was going on between the two of you?"

"Nothing," she insists, but the increasing heat in her face tells her that her lie is not very convincing. She'd have hoped she'd outgrown getting all flushed and flustered over a boy, but clearly she hasn't.

"Whatever you say," Cabe grins. "Just make sure to invite me to the wedding."

"What wedding?" Walter asks suddenly, and Paige jumps to see that the group has left the telescope and is walking toward them.

"Ralph's," she blurts out. "When he's . . . grown."

Ralph just blinks at her. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

"I need to go make the gravy," she says, and disappears into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to glare daggers at Cabe. He just smirks.

She invites the gang over for Thanksgiving as well, and it's the best one the Dineens have had in a long time. Cabe brings mashed potatoes—turns out he can cook if he puts his mind to it—and everyone else just brings store-bought pies because none of them know their way around a kitchen, meaning they end up with more pie than anything else, which no one is complaining about. They have a delightful meal, and when it's over Cabe turns on a football game, and Toby drifts over after a few moments ("What, I can't like sports? Okay, fine, I admit it, I've placed a few football bets in my time."). Happy and Ralph join them in the living room to look at the toy construction set with the solar-powered motor that Drew sent Ralph for his last birthday; it's well below Ralph's intelligence level—Drew tries, but he's never been able to understand Ralph—but with Happy's help he's soon pulling everything apart and refashioning the pieces into who knows what.

This leaves Paige, Sly and Walter in the kitchen. Armed with heavy duty gloves, Sly starts cleaning up from the meal, his desire to be helpful and keep things tidy apparently overpowering his dislike of touching other people's germy dishes; Paige stands at the sink to begin washing the dishes he hands her, and after a few moments Walter joins her. "This was so nice of you, Paige," Sylvester gushes. "This is one of the nicest Thanksgivings I've ever had."

Walter agrees, then adds, "Although, to be fair, I didn't do Thanksgiving until I came to the US, so I only have half a lifetime of Thanksgivings to compare it to."

Baffled, she looks over at him, but he's scraping bits of leftover mashed potatoes into the disposal and doesn't notice.

"Walter's Irish," Sly supplies helpfully.

She blinks. "You're Irish?" she repeats.

Walter looks up, surprised. "Did I never tell you that?"

"I think I would have remembered something like that."

"Oh. Well, yes, born and raised. I've been in the states long enough to lose the accent, as you might have noticed."

And this is probably just her stubborn little crush on Walter speaking, but suddenly she really wants to hear him speak with an Irish accent. "So when you say you don't have family in the area, you mean your family's all the way across the ocean." Walter nods, and her expression softens. "That must have been rough," she observes, doing the math in her head from what he said earlier—he must have moved to the US in his late teens. "Moving here all alone."

Walter freezes, and looks at Sylvester, who appears to take pity on him. "He didn't," he says, and there's a sadness in his voice that wasn't there before. "His sister Megan moved out here with him."

Something in his tone warns her, and she changes her planned response from "What's she up to now?" to "Oh, I never heard about her."

"She passed away," says Sly. "Almost exactly three years ago. MS."

"I'm sorry," she says softly, glancing over at Walter, who is frowning at the sink, his eyes suspiciously bright. She decides to leave him to his grief, and turns back to Sylvester. "Did you know her?"

"I was married to her, actually."

"Wait, what?" Paige demands, and Sly smiles at her outburst; apparently he's found peace with Megan's death in a way Walter hasn't yet. "So Walter's Irish and the pair of you are brothers-in-law? Any other secrets you've been keeping from me?"

Sly's smile deepens. "Walter almost married Happy once to keep his green card. Luckily he managed to work out another way to stay in the country."

And that's enough to shake Walter out of his sorrow; he turns on Sylvester with a look of annoyance. "That is private information, Sly," he says, and from the living room Happy yells "Yeah, that's private information!" while Paige laughs loud and long. Walter gives her a rueful look, but when he sees that she's laughing at the situation, not at him, his expression softens, and then he smiles at her in a way that sets butterflies to fluttering in her stomach. And the thought hits her anew: she likes this guy. She really, really likes this guy.

So a week later, she gathers up her courage for one more try, and when he comes into the cafe one afternoon to get coffee, she asks him out, point blank, without using Ralph as an excuse this time.

His expression freezes, his smile faltering, and she knows what he's going to say before he's going to say it. "Look," he begins. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," she says, and it's not quite a lie, because it will be fine, eventually, when she's had some time to get over it.

"I do . . . I am very fond of you," he says. "It's just . . ."

Just then a student comes up to the register to buy a cookie, and Paige makes herself smile at Walter as she goes to the baked goods case. "It's fine," she repeats. "I just . . . can we still be friends?"

"Of course," he blurts out, looking relieved. "I would hate to lose y—your friendship."

She smiles and rings up the student, and when she looks back to where Walter had been standing, he's gone.

o.o.o

And Paige is determined that they will indeed continue to be friends, because she's only got five of them in this town, and she can't afford to lose one, especially when losing Walter's friendship might cost her the others'. And she also doesn't want to ruin Ralph's friendship with Walter; her son talks about Walter non-stop, and recently selected a new shirt based on its similarity to one Walter owns, and with apologies to Drew, this is the most positive father-like relationship in Ralph's life. (Really, she doesn't mean it when she says "with apologies to Drew"; the guy has been trying for the last year or two, but he still walked out and left her to raise Ralph on her own for a decade, and anyway his version of trying to be part of Ralph's life is occasional phone calls and presents and a visit once a year.)

So she works extra hard to be friendly and normal around Walter, and after an awkward start, he follows suit, and if not for the fact that he no longer comes to the cafe to buy brownies, she could almost pretend nothing happened between them. He even comes very willingly when she has the gang over for Sunday dinner again, although they say little to each other.

In the meantime, the semester ends and finals week begins, and Ralph spends from dawn to dusk plowing through a mountain of books and notes and computer programs. Now that Walter's done teaching, he and Ralph spend even more time together working on his classwork, with Sly occasionally joining them. Paige only knows this because Ralph tells her; she's no longer as comfortable as she was just settling into Walter's office to wait for them to finish, so she's started meeting Ralph at her car. Ralph notices the change, she can tell, but he doesn't bring it up until the last day of finals.

"Mom," he says quietly as she starts the car, "are you mad at Walter?"

Lucky she was turned away from him at that moment, so he didn't see her expression change. "No, not at all, sweetie."

"Because you never come to his office anymore."

"I've been busy," she says, figuring this is a situation that makes white lies acceptable. "Work has been crazy lately."

He seems to accept that, but he has more to say on the subject, she learns a few minutes later. "Mom," he says when they're nearly home. "Would you ever go out with Walter?"

She forces her expression to stay light. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugs, and his answer is, in his usual way, a bit blunt but guileless. "I like him, and you two get along, and I thought maybe if you were dating he'd always stick around."

There's a pause while she collects herself, and then she manages to smile. "I don't think he and I would work out," she says gently as she parks the car. "But we are good friends, and that's not going to change. And the two of you are good friends, and that's not going to change either. Remember, you still have at least seven semesters left here, and Walter has no intention of leaving CalSci, so you guys are going to have lots of time together."

"But I won't be in his class next semester," Ralph points out.

That's true, he won't. But on the other hand, if Walter's previous behavior is any indication . . . "I think Walter wants to keep helping you, even when you're not in his class," she says; she remembers Walter's intention of being a mentor to Ralph, and makes a mental note to remind him that he needs to tell Ralph of that intention so the boy doesn't worry. "He's told me before how much he enjoys doing it."

This seems to ease Ralph's worry, and he smiles at her and hops out of the car. And Paige takes advantage of her moment alone to let her shoulders slump, just for a second. Then she plasters on a smile and climbs out of the car.

o.o.o

With finals out of the way and school out of session for two and a half weeks, Ralph becomes much more relaxed and happy in the days leading up to Christmas. Paige still has to work up until the 22nd, so Ralph stays home or tags along to campus with her to hang out in the library while she works.

Her newfound circle of friends still spend some of their time on campus as well, trying to finish grading final tests and projects and get their grades submitted by the December 27th deadline. With the campus nearly deserted, both Toby and Happy start spending some of their grading time in the cafe, where Paige can supply them with a steady stream of coffee and food, and Paige considers it a Christmas miracle when a well-timed refresh on Happy's coffee actually earns her a smile. The campus is so dead that Paige has almost no customers and loads of free time, which she spends pretending she's not observing Toby and Happy together; Happy pretends to be annoyed whenever Toby interrupts her grading to say something to her, but Paige sees perfectly well that despite the fact that they've both got laptops and piles of papers competing for space and there are a dozen empty tables Happy would probably be more comfortable at, she still always sits next to Toby.

"How's the grading?" Paige asks Toby one afternoon when he's there alone. "Going to be done in time?"

"Oh yeah, I'll be done by Christmas," Toby says confidently. "Although even if I weren't, no one really cares if you don't hit the deadline. Walt sometimes doesn't get his grades in until mid-January. Which is his own fault, for assigning so much work." He considers a moment. "Although maybe this year will be different. I went to his office yesterday and found him elbow deep in grading. I've never seen him work that hard on getting his grades in before."

"Really?" Maybe that focus is part of the reason she hasn't seen him in a week. "Why the sudden dedication this year?"

Toby shrugs. "Beats me."

The gang, including the Dineens, has decided to spend Christmas at Cabe's, as he's the only one in the group with a real house. Paige is covering food, Sly and Toby are covering decorations, and they're going to have a big dinner Christmas Eve, a sleepover in Cabe's living room (it took some serious doing to talk Happy into that), Christmas morning presents, and then pajamas and hanging out all Christmas day. Paige packs her bags with both anticipation and concern. It's going to be wonderful for her and Ralph to spend the holiday with people they care about for the first time in Ralph's memory. On the other hand, spending 36 hours in the same house as Walter could be uncomfortable, given that they haven't had a real conversation since he turned her down.

But he's not even there when she and Ralph arrive after lunch, so she's spared any awkwardness for the moment. And the group that's assembled is a very cheerful one. Sylvester is like a kid in a candy store, Toby is wearing a reindeer sweater and one of those headbands with mistletoe on it, and Happy's in a good enough mood that she doesn't do anything but roll her eyes at Toby. They watch a Christmas movie, and then pull out board games while Paige goes to the kitchen to start dinner with Cabe's help; the hours tick on, and still no Walter.

When the sun is setting in the late afternoon, and the only thing left to do for dinner is wait another fifteen minutes for it to come out of the oven, Paige pokes her head into the living room to see Cabe reading a newspaper and four of her favorite geniuses racing each other to see who can complete a jigsaw puzzle the fastest. She smiles at the content look at her son's face, and decides to take a moment to go out on the back porch and watch the sunset.

Cabe's place is small, but the copse of trees at the back of the yard give the whole lot a sense of seclusion, which she enjoys; she likes that no one can see her as she stands there and watches the glow of the clouds slowly shift from a delicate blue to a vibrant orange. And that's where she's standing when the door between the back patio and the kitchen opens, and she turns to see Walter standing there, watching her in a way that speaks of barely restrained tension. "Walter!" she says. "You made it! I thought we were going to have to call out a search party."

"I wanted to get my grades submitted before I came," he says.

"Those aren't due until the 27th," she grins.

He takes a step toward her. "Yes, but the, ah, the deadline wasn't my biggest motivating factor."

She tilts her head, questioning, and examines Walter thoughtfully. This is a version of him she hasn't seen lately: eager, jittery, more awkward than usual, very focused on her. She doesn't know what happened to make him cast off the stiffness of the last month, but she's pleased about it.

But before she can ask either what he's so restless about or what made him get his grades done early, he speaks again. "I wanted to talk to you," he says, "about—I was wondering if you and Ralph would like to come over for dinner next week. Just the three of us. You've invited me often enough, and I think I should, uh, return the favor."

She stares.

His open expression shutters a little. "Is that . . . not a good idea?"

"No, it's a great idea," she forces out, not wanting Walter, with his limited understanding of other people's emotions, to misconstrue her silence. "I'm just surprised. Since it seems like you . . ."

He waits patiently.

Honesty is the best policy, right? "You had an excuse not to every time we asked," she finishes. "I was starting to think you just didn't want to spend time with us. You know, alone."

Surprise and dismay fill his expression. "I didn't—that wasn't my intention," he reassures her. "I wanted to come, really."

"Then why—"

"I worried about doing so while Ralph was still in my class," he says quickly. "I was already spending so much time with him on campus; if it became known that I was so closely, uh, involved with his family . . . there was a similar case here a few years ago, where the department decided that a professor had inflated a student's grade because he was pursuing the student's older sister, romantically. There were repercussions."

So he was worried about his professional image, Paige thinks, and then is almost immediately proven wrong when he adds, "I didn't want this to reflect poorly on Ralph, or tarnish his academic career. I didn't want there to be any accusations of favoritism. I was just trying to be careful."

"Oh," she breathes, and takes a step toward him. "So . . . that was the only reason?" And when he nods, she asks, "Why didn't you say anything?"

He gives her an uncomfortable smile. "When you first asked about dinner, I wasn't sure if you were asking as a friend, or as my student's mother, or . . . anything else, and I didn't want to presume . . . I just didn't know how to respond. And then after that it was easier to keep making excuses."

Her heart is starting to pound, and she can feel the stirring of wild hope in her chest. But she forces herself to stay calm. "What about when I asked you out? That time you just said no."

His body language is screaming discomfort, but there's something in his eyes that tells her he's feeling hopeful as well. "I wanted to say yes," he blurts, then looks a little embarrassed. "I was going to explain then, but you didn't really give me a chance. And then you stopped coming by my office, and I just decided . . . it would be easier to get through the semester, submit my grades so that Ralph was no longer my student, and then, uh, do . . . this. This conversation."

Part of her brain is thinking, Ah, so that explains his unusual insistence on getting his grades done early. And part of her brain is thinking, We need to work on his communication skills. But most of her brain is cheering. That part wins out. "So," she says, and she's trying to play it cool but she can feel her smile growing, "if I asked you out again . . ."

He looks pleased a moment, then frowns. "Umm, are you, or is this purely hypothetical? Because in such an emotionally charged situation, it's difficult to be precise without knowing what the other person is feeling . . ."

And that's how she knows just how crazy she is about him: his rambling is just about the most endearing thing she's ever heard. "Walter," she says gently, and reaches out to take his hand. He stares down at their joined hands, then up at her, looking like a deer in the headlights. "I like you. A lot. So I'm asking you on a date. A real one, not a hypothetical one."

Walter starts to smile, and it grows and grows until it lights up his whole face and she's never seen him so happy before, but before he can answer the door opens and Toby's voice interrupts them. "Hey, Paige, the timer went off. Should I—" He breaks off as he sees them standing out there, stepping back quickly from each other and staring guiltily at him like they've just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. It's dusk now, but there's enough light left that Paige can see that Toby looks incredibly smug. "Am I interrupting something?" he says in a knowing tone.

Paige grits her teeth a moment, then says sweetly, "Could you take the pan out of the oven for me? I'll be right in."

"Of course," Toby says magnanimously. He turns to go in, then says, "Oh, one quick thing." Then he pulls the mistletoe headband off his head and puts it on Paige. "Seems like you two need this more than I do," he says with a wink, and returns inside.

Embarrassed, Paige starts trying to pull the headband off without messing up her hair too much. "Subtlety is not his strong suit," she mutters, then stops both her words and her movements when Walter places a hand gently on her wrist.

"Would you mind?" he asks softly, sounding nervous but determined. "If I did?"

She can do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, and shake her head.

But then he seems to lose his nerve. "I don't mean to pressure you," he says quickly. "I mean, it's just a silly tradition. Actually in Norse mythology, mistletoe was the only plant that could harm the god Baldr—"

So she kisses him, while he flounders about in surprise a moment then collects himself enough to return the kiss and to place his hands on the small of her back to pull her closer. What he lacks in skill he makes up for eagerness, and with what brain power she can spare, she thinks to herself that this moment was worth waiting for—although she doesn't know whether she means it was worth waiting for the last semester, or the years since Drew left, or her entire life. Maybe all three.

o.o.o

And so it comes to pass that when Ralph Dineen-O'Brien receives his PhD at the ripe old age of 20, it is his step-father waiting to hood him up on the stage. Down in the audience is his mother, Paige O'Brien, sitting with her two younger children and their guests. On the one side of her, Lieutenant Colonel Gallo entertains little Megan with a coloring book. On the other side sit Ralph's O'Brien grandparents, flown over from Ireland for the occasion, who are happy and proud of their boys, although Sean is a little distracted by his infant granddaughter currently sleeping in his lap. On the other side of the O'Briens sits their son-in-law Sylvester, who's snapping pictures of the ceremony; next to him is the Quinn-Curtis family, with four-year-old Grace nestled between her parents and keeping herself entertained with a novel practically bigger than she is.

Paige looks up and down the row at her loved ones, and then up at the stage where her boys are beaming at each other, both looking proud enough to burst, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop the tears that come to her eyes. Seven years ago, she'd thought she was leaving home to follow Ralph away to college, but it turns out home was waiting for her on campus all along.

o.o.o


End file.
